Yeknodathon

[... and as the wintry sun plummets past the horizon and the small pond voles hurtle into their dim and dingy holes something grey and heavy is stalking in the paddock, tail in air, as if it were a half-ton feline prowler ready to spring] CentiBooed, CentiBooed, CentiBooed, CentiBooed,

Was that Joe the Cat or the centipede? Or the centipede within Joe the Cat? Or was it just Joe the Justicat?

... or Joe the Justicat That would be more cool than a chest freezer.

Don't suppose you can get a centipede to munch Joe the Cat? That would be very cool.

[... and snorting sand upon the boxes so that those with toes can get good grippage...]

[drags packing boxes through the approaching chilly dawn to fashion steps and platform up to a suitable height...] [ December 03, 2004, 11:24 PM: Message edited by: Yeknodathon ]

[shuffles round to offer one firm buttock, plants front hooves into the frosted mud, lips and tail trembling in anticipation] ...and makes several savage, controlled cuts through the air with it, worthy of a Heidelberg dueling master [ripples with pure delight at the sight of diminutive Terrance Stamp swordplay...] Pain is a natural part of life. That's why it's taken me many years of 'life experience' to refine it to where it's not. It's time to flay some donkey arse, and raise a great squealing and braying onto Heaven... *sniff* Can I be Bathsheba? [playfully offers the other buttock for fond patting]

[releases a slowly controlled passage of wind across a frosty, night-time paddock bush] More sprouts, vicar?

Yes, please continue. It aids insomnia.

[twitches the tail of unfathomable contemplation] Barbie?

I've always considered the internal combustion engine with deep suspicion. [eyes Boo, suspiciously]

I think he needs to adjust his preload and rebound. Things are looking a bit compressed at the back end.

Timlord the Emfocker... *sniff* [stares, wildly, into the paddock tree] Cross pollination, pathetic.

[presses one nostril against a particularly ancient fossil]

I've got a fungal disease. It's not quite like E.coli but does involve flaky bits of debris shaking loose when I move. Which isn't very much.

[donkey-paddles across the pond and then lurks, half-submerged, among the lillypads... waiting]

[creates a rapid burst of underwater bubbles in the paddock pond]

Damart for grating the odourous?

Whereas Boo has a pendant for stating the oblivious?

Erm.... err.... well... could not the same be said about squads used in massed ranks of muskets? Out of my depth here, hasty retreat... back to silliness.

Roman legions had "squads" of contubernia which were composed of eight men sharing a tent and fire. An understrength century might represent a platoon?

*sniff*... oh, dear... oh, deary me, that's not right, not right at all...

*honk* *hooooooooooonk* *honkety-ha, ha, honk* *snorrrrrrrrrrrt* *plop* *sniff* that wasn't so bad.... whaddawegot here?

.... pump, gimme the pump...

Where's daddy?