Yeknodathon

Justicar! No Boo!

He'd hug the side of the Gnome

[meanwhile, its a select only Mormon Wives special gala event at the Paddock and first up on display is something rather grey and chunky with an alluring bonnet to capture the eye of that special one or even a banker] Polygamy, one can't have too much of something with facial hair.

Quite. Very interesting.

And the young Joe Xia while clutching his copy of Mormon Wives Monthly and pumping his slide rule warned, "you are not safe in your homes, I will still ownz you with my highly leveraged, sub-prime offerings, for I am Monthly Repayment gone a little bit awry and will mock you all when you come crawling to the Tabernacle"

You mean like this?

Er, no. Pillock

Its not the size of your Bradley that matters, its what you do with it.

When do we get the ponies?

Nothing a tooth pick and a jar of Vaseline can't handle

Special translation for Boovette: envoi d'un tour

[meanwhile, a Krispy Kreme outlet has been set up at Paddock Corner under a sign in thickest crayon....] "Turpitude is too easy, you can never be rough enough with hoof cuffs"

Does Breaded Dick come with fries?

[making a sudden appearance at the Paddock shed door with a snout liberally fitted with a thin but highly durable latex covering that billows and increase in size with every *snort*] *snort* not wanting to open your mind "snort" on account that tightness is quite a bivalve quality.

[faint sound of unwrapping and stretching of latex from within the Paddock shed] *snort* Bradley *snort* dunno where' he's been *snort*

Boo, The Uncredible Sulk

They'd have no chance against chavs and hoodies.

[meanwhile, its high tea at the Paddock with a full set of crockery and cutlery, thinly sliced thistle sandwiches, a nice brew and the day's special: amble helpings of former p0rned, Goober nation-sourced sandwiches with the most delicate slices of buffalo and turkey and generously seasoned with a sprinkling of Emrys shavings collected over the week] Well Mr Gnome, what a feast?! [sniffing and blowing a buffalo appetizer to arrange the Emrys debris into a neat mound] I'm almost at a loss where to start gagging.

Did he say "Chicken Supreme"? Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, Emrys, lay a little egg for me. Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, Emrys, I want one for my tea Oh, I haven't had an egg since Easter, and now it's half past three So, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, Emrys, lay a little egg for me

I see, [shifting weight from one buttock to another so as to carefully nestle a well-worn rubber toy to somewhere more generous] .. no, I've never made the acquaintance. I'm sure I would of remembered someone of note [slowly making another adjustment] May I inquire whether it is of good breeding?

Er.... Who?

A kind of degenerative slow collapsing sort of snuff it or something more grandiose as befitting the little weasel? Pressure applied to the rock may produce some interesting splatter patterns but I suspect he might wriggle into all the wrong crevices and grow something back.

Its always nice to keep him busy with lots of extra Boo j..j.j..j.o... activity *honk* more tea, vicar?

Flower Arranger - a preoccupation bordering on a fetish, to examine all the nice graphics and pieces and arrange them on setup in beautiful and artistic ways away from any danger without any regard to doctrine or tactics and then proceed to protect them at all cost from the opposing player's line of sight. This player is not interested in combat but the collection of pretty, shiny things and a rather gleeful satisfaction in watching, turn after turn, a growing sense of alarm and frustration from the opposing player as nothing seems to happen. The apogee of delight for the Flower Arranger is watching the aimless and uncoordinated rush of the opposing player's assets in every direction in a futile attempt to find something while remaining hidden in original form proving that ugliness can only enhance the pristine perfection of something heavenly on a CM map.

Yes, one could imagine the first, tentative steps to a casual introduction I am become Boo, the destroyer of threads.