Leeo

Indeed, Boo sports quite the glacis plate, does he not? I mean, what does it take to penetrate that formidable hunk of bone that protects the pea-sized cluster of ganglia some might loosely label a "brain?"

My question is: Do these pads have wings?

All will become clear once you send me a turn, you poncing, posturing, prole with a penchant for pomposity!

Nidan, dude, lay off the bad acid. The last time I saw a Six Foot Purple Orangutan, I had to put my cup of Electric Koolaid down.

Here, weasle....here boy.... there, there, nice weasle.... *stroke* *stroke* Any more stoopid requests there Leeo? </font>

I would simply like to point out the following: Boo doesn't know my troops are poised on overrunning his little village. Nidan1 has difficulty operating email programs properly. Sir37mm has lost all interest in having me hand his unfit ass to him. The rest of you lot can sod off. Or send me a turn. Or stroke your weasle.

Sit down, bauhaus!

And how would this differ from the current state of affairs whereby you currently annoy me without "playing me" (whatever the hell kind of euphemism that's supposed be)? </font>

Specially in games where you are LOSING!!! </font>

And how would this differ from the current state of affairs whereby you currently annoy me without "playing me" (whatever the hell kind of euphemism that's supposed be)?

People Who Owe Me Turns (PWOMT): Boo Sir37mm Nidan1 Snap crap, boys!

Alright, dammit, here I am, right in the middle of my personal universe, and no one has sent me a turn. I blame Joe Shaw.

Dear galumphing and shambling Boo: It's a blessing I can ride again so readily. 'Tis a pity that you can not quite yet saddle-up after the last spanking <small>(draw)</small> I handed you. Now that I've gained the reins of Deutschland, you can kiss your little pixel-souls goodbye, you scaborous rat-handler with hand washing phobia!

You ran over your toy choo-choo didn't you? </font>

The bottle neck, to be truthful. We'd instructed the woman in the back seat to kick the fifth of Bacardi Silver (80 proof; which we'd just cracked open and was missing very little) under the driver's seat. At this she was inept. The officer spied the Bacardi with his flashlight, and after many radio consultations with "home Base," decided to merely make us pour it out, since little was gone and we had clean records. It so happens that this was all following attendance to a Frank Zappa concert, prior to which my buddy and I had drank a fifth of Bacardi 151. I did the classic Frat trick of purging prior to the concert (killed some shrubberies, I did). However, I merely remember a small man in a white suit playing some wicked tunes, and then the parking, and then the inspection by copdom. After I poured the Bacardi silver onto the asphalt, the Ociffer told my friend to dispose of the bottle. Weaving to and fro, he took the empty bottle and chucked it by it's neck towards a garbage barrel about 25 feet away. Pure silence, and I could swear I could hear the whistle of the wind as it sailed neck over bottom to rotate through the air and make a direct slam-dunk into the garbage can. The policeman looked carefully at my friend and said "you're lucky that went in." We were about 18 years old. Quite a bit different from the Nam.

I once hit a train with my car, and on another occasion had a friend puke on the off-hand side of a car prior to the approach of a police officer. He eventually made us drain rum onto the asphalt.

I thought the Prancing Belgian was an Alehouse down on the corner of Pungent Lane and Detritus Boulevard? Or was that the corner of Mirth and Offal? My Cesspool map is mussed, as is my last ganglion.

Who amongst us has not had a ticklish test? I have it on good authority that the ASVAB test tickles the most.

Some how, I always thought the MBT absolutely screamed the need for a gay haberdasher. Silly me.

"HERE <small>you</small> squat ... <big><big>IN</big></big> THE CESSPULE!"

Smart enough to know how to yank the justicar chain, you pretentious bureaucrat with a penchant for rules lawyering.

Many Congrats, Sir PBP Sturmy! (I now choose to sit down, but by no means with the intention of usurping bahaus's write to do so)

You are a thingy-atrophied, chicken-neck second-seater who'd ne'er persuade Miss Jolie to share your hair space.

I haven't shaved my absinthe yesthterday.

I would like to point out that I reacently gave Boo a clear trouncing (<small>on points: <small><small>55-45</small></small></small>). Learn's him right, it does, that Brummbar and Tiger buyin' bastige. HA!