Yeknodathon

[watches the paddock pond with deep suspicion to see if dalem emerges like Venus or...] *twitches the tail with a particularly arresting thought* [...Ursula Andrews]

which side? </font>

[enters from the gloom, dramatically, with ears flailing in wide, sweeping arcs and a wierd, nasal squeak] Out on the wiley, windy moors We'd roll and fall in green. You had a temper like my jealousy: Too hot, too greedy. How could you leave me, When I needed to possess you? I hated you. I loved you, too. Bad dreams in the night. You told me I was going to lose the fight, Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering Wuthering Heights. Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I´m so cold! Let me in-a-your window. Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I´m so cold! Let me in-a-your window. Oooooooooooooooooooh, it gets dark! It gets lonely, On the other side from you. I pine a lot. I find a lot Falls through without you. I'm coming back, love. Cruel Seanachai, my one dream, My only master. Too long I roam in the night. I'm coming back to his side, to put it right. I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights, Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I´m so cold! Let me in-a-your window. Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I´m so cold! Let me in-a-your window. Oooooooooooooooooooooooooh! *snort* *honk* *snort* Let me have it. Let me grab your red, pointy hat away. Ooh! Let me have it. Let me grab your red, pointy hat away. You know it's me-- a donkey! Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I'm so cold! Let me in-a-your window. Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I´m so cold! Let me in-a-your window. Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I´m so cold! Seanachai, it's me-- a donkey. I've come home. I'm so cold! AHHHHHHH YAAAAA YAAAA OHHHH YAAAAAAA *honk* *honk* *snort* *honk*

[slowly ploughs a furrow across the paddock with one buttock]

You could use explosives. </font>

I suppose it all depends on the cleavage... [deftly traps a swinging tail]

... buttocks. Articulated buttocks.

[stands in the paddock in four, knee-length rubber boots and peaked cap to the sound of a tail making playful, whip-like cracks] Did someone mention complex fantasies?

[fondly rolls an owl pellet under hoof]

I'm still going to lose

I've always considered Kim Wilde to be a strumpet.

Originally posted by Boo Radley: Everything is green which obviously indicates a lot of thistles. Except for the brooding shadow which obviously indicates lots of thistles in shade... or a gathering mass of Gengis Khan-types with funny hats and moustaches riding little ponies. I stared very hard (as one does with nothing particularly useful to do) and if one just stands and stares a lot, without blinking, one can just make out a red pointy hat. Yeknod

... makes me feel like a donkey... hot donkey.

Judging by the smell of the Paddock, what you say may be true, but it would appear more likely that you have been rolling in your #2's. </font>

I just wanted to say I only roll "1"s.

Oh... [thinks a bit] Boo's Southern Hemisphere answers to West Virginia? *sniff*... that might be a long conversation.

A fishy curmudgeon

Oh. [forces a spasmodic tail twitch] ... well, one can't have enough truncheons, I say.

Oh, *sniff* not Beakthrush?

[picking up the rhythm and responding to the husky, dark, sultry charms flowing from ear to rarely-visited pleasure regions of the brain something grey and heavy begins the steps to a complex line dancing dressage sequence] [ July 18, 2004, 02:05 AM: Message edited by: Yeknodathon ]

I'm not moving.

[rotates ears wildly... pondering on whether the load is distressing or arousing... or both] Bugger.

*sniff*... 'suppose that's one god parent sorted out. I propose Hortland in drag as the partner to maintain a balance.

If I want something to move, nibbling a fig or two always does the trick. One can't have enough figs in tight situations. Lubrication. Much underated subject.

[violently uproots a rather ripe thistle, moodily spraying soil and thistle roots around the paddock] Nothing better than figs for the consitution, I say.