Leeo

Tank hew, tank hew berry mulch (and God Gobble us, every one!).

Piss orf, you displaced Oddstralian wannabe! Erm, orf, zumvink lyk dat.

When I was small I believed in santa claus Though I knew it was my dad And I would hang up my stocking at christmas Open my presents and Id be glad But the last time I played father christmas I stood outside a department store A gang of kids came over and mugged me And knocked my reindeer to the floor They said: Father christmas, give us some money Dont mess around with those silly toys. Well beat you up if you dont hand it over We want your bread so dont make us annoyed Give all the toys to the little rich boys Dont give my brother a steve austin outfit Dont give my sister a cuddly toy We dont want a jigsaw or monopoly money We only want the real mccoy Father christmas, give us some money Well beat you up if you make us annoyed Father christmas, give us some money Dont mess around with those silly toys But give my daddy a job cause he needs one Hes got lots of mouths to feed But if youve got one, Ill have a machine gun So I can scare all the kids down the street Father christmas, give us some money We got no time for your silly toys Well beat you up if you dont hand it over Give all the toys to the little rich boys Have yourself a merry merry christmas Have yourself a good time But remember the kids who got nothin While youre drinkin down your wine Father christmas, give us some money We got no time for your silly toys Well beat you up if you dont hand it over We want your bread, so dont make us annoyed Give all the toys to the little rich boys

I don't need your steeenking points.* *Absolutely nothing if you know where this came from.

The Wirblewinds would be much more fun at grinding infantry from afar if they didn't pop smoke and flee at the first sign of someone flinging rocks at them.

OOoooo, OOooo, I know this one; Zippy Pinhead is Emrys, ain't he? Or versa vice... Hey, is that a moonbeam?

What is more empty than the sound of one hand clapping, Emrys? You are the expert on such, and disinterested minds couldn't care less.

How's about another chance to send me a turn, Aussie-boy Stuka!

Yes; rune's bottom somehow also supports his upper portions, that's the disturbing bit. Well, there are his scenarios that are also rather disturbing, mind you. Particularly the one about the, er, well.

What about rune's side? What about rune's front? rune's top or bottom? Well? Well?

OK, all you BASTIGES owe me turns. CHOP CHOP!

Catholick girls? Yee-haww! Nuthin' like a bit O' guilt and oppression to make 'em crave acceptance. Er, I mean, Yes, Nidan1, how dare you!!

I had a personality once, before it escaped from my cage, chased down and drubbed to death Joe Xia's pedantic behavior prior to it's eating of Bradgelina's foetus. Kinda like Nidan1 is a foe t' us. s'truth!

Emrys, you post padding pundit-thrope, must you insert an inane response after every freaking post of man, dog, god, and demon; every piss-post by prophet, profit and preachin'; every technical spectacle treacle and leeching; every dumb-shrug and humbug and endless repeatin? Ha-whY? If'n yer not careful-like, you'll get sum dalem to versifyin', see ifn't he don't get to projectifyin', jest see if'n he don't!

Know, Radley, nothing like that. Be still, now, why your elders discuss things beyond your ken ((and Barbie, too) Bah-DUMP-bump).

I hear the Bard, and I have a sudden urge to wend my way to Many-apple-ess to give the Gnome a hug. We are of a kind, separated by distance. But the death of a dalem is not to be celebrated, but to be pitied. Without a dalem, how do we know that we but trod upon the same path of illusion. Where cigars matter, and health care don't; where we bail out the rich, and drown the poor; where we make money on the backs of the average slob, and thank the board for puttin' the screws in? I've drank enough to drown a hippo, yet still, these truth's do I hold dear; a bawdy song and sharing of liquor with the bard sings sweetly to my ear. "Head West, old man, for we have streams aplenty, oceans to roam, and an old agitator can easily find home." So let it be slurred, so let it be done.

I love seeing killing machines rusting away instead of fulfilling their original purpose. It's enough to give one ("sniff") hope.

Yes. Please also define "up," "you," and "Grogs."

I'll take "pathetically lame attempts at a relationship" for $200, Alex. Or, probably, pathetically lame marketing crappola for $0. WhaddoIwin?

Oh, How I hate Stuartssessess; Let me count the ways. Whether 'tis by their breadth of shootey behavior, Or the depth of the running aroundedness, Yeah, and verily, Do I hate them. I hate them for their rapid-fire retorts and the rat-at-ata-at-tat-atat-attat (oh, feck it) of their multiple machine guns. Such puny fruit-flys of combat, yet wearying in their tenacity I hates them.

Hey, I'm 2 and zero for our last two outings, Mr. Nidan1. Pick whatever scenario you'd like, just make sure it's flat, short on cover, and I get a bazillion Stuartssessess... You know, that "flat and short on cover" phrase reminds me of Boo's head.

You take that back!! No way in hell am I going to reduce myself to using something so base as tactics.

I'll buy you drink. What would you like? Beer, liquor, prune juice or strychnine? As I thank you for your service (as should all 'merkins), I want to be of some small service in return. So what'll it be, the Hops, the Grain, the Fruit, or the Alkaloid?

No one can find me in this craptacularly lame attempt at the MBT.

This Here is the glorious Mutha Beautiful Thread. We hate oddstralians. We can tolerate them for short periods (it's the new birf-control, dontchaknow), but in general, they are the heat-rash on the bum of our planet. They protest, squawk, and prance about, like (temporary translation) Wombat Enamoured Didgeridoos. It don't mean ****e. If'n you want to play a game, pick out one on your own level (if'n you're new here, that means you need to recruit someone of your own base class) and challenge them, specifically, to a game. No, "I'll whip the lot of ya," challenges. That just won't fly (kinda like the souls of oddstralians). Act like you gotta pair, but speak not about the oddstralian's pair of empty sacks. The Ladies of the 'pool are sacrosanct. Treat them with deference (i.e., like someone not from oddstralyia). Defer to your betters (which includes anyone NOT from oddstralia), as we have been there, done that, and it ain't all it's cracked up to be. In other words, Don't be Oddstralian. There are other rules, but you don't deserve to know them.