Yeknodathon

How else indeed. And with this mutual admiration I at once knit the Justicker Radley and Boo Shaw to embrace the void; to dip into the universal sub-conscious that laps around their meagre and fleeting existence, swelling this way and that, waxing and waning to crash upon their bitter shores... [hoof pointing towards the metaphysical roaring waves] ... a beach so profoundly desolate that in me minds eye one can only make out mishaped dunes, fallen sea gulls and a solitary thistle patch. Did you say something?

[scribbling note to Emrys in the thickest, blackest and most blunt crayon] P - O _ LY - G l l ll .. OT NOT...

Eh? [scribbling a note to self in deepest crayon]

[delicately caressing a sprout with fulsome, moist and sensuous lips] *honk?* *honker-honkety-honk* *sniff* *nibble* *nibble* *sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurp* *HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK*

[meanwhile, back at the Paddock something grey and heavy is practicing for an interview] *honk* *honk* *honkety-honk* *honk* *honk* honk-honkety-honker-honker-honk* *honk?* *snort* *snort* *snort* *hacccccup* *hack* *honk*

Or harpooning a beached whale...

Oh... ... and a fraction of a Justicar would be an ic? And collecting an ic from the deep, deep recesses of a Justicar... ahem... zero... might [slowly slides front hooves into thick rubber boots] be the most difficult thing in the world. But one should at least try when the opportunity arises?

That's banking, isn't it?

[forcing air through snout and mouth with such force to produce a clattering sound of moistened lips, tongue and something half-digested]

[checking in all the favourite Gnome places] Bit hard to miss someone with a red pointy hat? Is it lost?

Gnomes live in burrows and it is quite likely they don't have smaller divisions.

It's very possible they share minds on alternate days... just not at the same time...

You know that it would be untrue You know that I would be a liar If I was to say to you Girl, we couldn’t get much higher Come on baby, light my Zulu Come on baby, light my Zulu Try to set the night on fire

*snort* It's a little piece of foreign outerboard earnestness in good ole Cesspool home counties. [waving a stick in a vague, half-hearted Assegai sort of way]

Daa-daa-deee-daa-daa-dee-daa-don-dee-daaaaaar *honk* *honk* *honk* *honkee* *honk* *honkeeeeeyoooore*

More like a ticket for double parking the catamaran.

[forcing hairy snout into a Justicar-repellant ejector receptacle]

[forcing hairy snout into a Mace-accepting suction receptacle]

Or pings at the end?

Oh, I suppose one might imagine the Wife of Bath in a John Deere cap... just so tractor. Upon an amblere esily she sat, Ywympled wel, and on hir heed an hat As brood as is a bokeler or a targe; A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large, And on hir feet a paire of spores sharpe. [ February 17, 2006, 02:15 PM: Message edited by: Yeknodathon ]

The gate is open and the fulsome donkey-bodied experience of prime, hardened mule-wrought firmness is abroad and upon this night one's nostrils will sniff any Tag that presents any fancy, supposition or whatever half-gassed (inflamatory or otherwise) fantasy that even begins to dribble forth from any seepage point the slightest smear of idiocy. [ February 17, 2006, 02:11 PM: Message edited by: Yeknodathon ]

*snort* Middle English from Ohio is like Chaucer from Scunthorpe

... quite a rarity, like halycon... haven't seen that one, either. Most perplexing. I suppose it is... [waving a lofty hoof] ...bardic?

Hearken? ... don't see that very often....

Uh-oh, mixed metaphor.