Yeknodathon

[plunges a ton of prime donkey flesh into the Paddock pond]

Oh, bugger. BOOOM

Um, I'm very upset there isn't Combat Mission: Paddock Donkey... Who's Syria? Never 'erd of 'im. What's a freakin' Stryker? It's soccer, isn't it? Oh, well... suppose the packaging will be tasty. I always like the packaging. ... and the bit a the start where yer get to place or the little fellas and their little mechanical things around the place. I like that. Bit like gardening or flower arranging. Takes me hours to get everything in the right place in just the right position and order; hiding 'em here or hiding 'em there, turning 'em around, burying 'em in interesting places. That feature has to stay in my opinion?

It is quite likely that dalem would not fit in a turkey. Not that we shouldn't try. Repeatedly. A lot.

I just ate my hoof and my stump is sticky.

[Tenses rear legs, sends a ripple down the windward flank, fixes a squint eye towards a dim speck in the middle distance (just where a rubber gnome ought to be) and begins to tentatively nibble the most succulent and tender thistle tip that could ever break through the crusty earth. And like a harvester on the mid-Western prairies it mows forward, tail akimbo and with such deft economy of movemnet and precise motive force (that really has no place on any prairie especially Ohio) truncates and shreds the stems, leaves and heads of all matter within a carefully judged path, neck arcing this way or that to gain wide sweeps as the air fills with the gentle chitter-chatter of expert teeth. And saving the best to last it ponders a while on a unusually large and cumbersome specimen...] *snort*... sometimes, it just feels so right not being Dorosh [... and with quite a bit more force than is enough decapitates the thistle head with an abrupt snip] *SNIP*

Obviously not Boo, he seems to be doing something intelligible... Yes, well... we all have our burden to bear and the Justicar more than most... obviously schizoid.

Oh... So we get kinky?

Well, I suppose you might be wanting a donkey? Good stamina and wot-not?

Or perhaps a gun, with a bullet in the chamber? </font>

Aww, I'm sorry, Yeknod... Do the other girls still make fun of you? </font>

... sodding sorority reunions...

[peering into the sky, just to check] Liver-wrenching... we could give Andreas... fire!

I want a BFC BOGOF (Buy One, Get One Free) supermarket deal.

Boo? Bad image, BAD IMAGE!

Probably in the upper intestinal.

I think we should seriously consider using an automatic just to ensure the desired result.

[Meanwhile, back at the Paddock its dominatrix night and amidst the swirling shadows of dusk a little rubber gnome, tightly strapped in a harness, is being stuffed into an even smaller box] *snort* no lights for you yer little bugger...

Bandwhip?

Well, having given deep consideration to yer posting I have to say that you are, of course, entirely right. Yes, one can't really begin to find anything at fault with yer point of view. Masterfull, incisive and just damn well argued. Brilliant. Stamp on 'em I say. Stamp on every one 'em. Delete 'em, throw 'em away, wash 'em down the plug 'ole, EXTERMINATE. Laddie, I like yer spew. It has venom and bile and just the right oranged-coloured chunks. Yer just the person we need and would just fit right in with the rest of us. Yes, yes... brother, come to us and hate us more!? Don't keep it in, let it all out, let it sway in the wind, land and burgeon into the most glorious flower of yer hate so that we may take snippings and dance around shrieking at yer incarnate offalation of pure, unsullied detestation. Besides, yer rather cute as well and I'd like to watch yer get spanked. Hard. In a harness.

I suppose it's moments like these that one ponders on the contribution of lemmings to creation. Well, okay, it doesn't. [stamps both front hooves on the sun-baked paddock ground] *THUD* Oh, there goes another one...

Freakin' groupies...

There was a 37 mm of messiah Who couldn't save a papaya He troubled the Bard And suffered quite hard To die an illiterate pariah.

Eh? What the feck is that? Attack Donkey? No! I'm a BATTLE DONKEY, 'specially bred at the finest stud. Do not mock me martial breeding or I shall have cause to swoop upon yer pointy hat with me full magnitude. [ September 02, 2005, 10:57 AM: Message edited by: Yeknodathon ]

... soddomasochism, feckin' kinky...