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Peng Challenges the Killer Rabbit.


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Originally posted by v42below:

Don't be silly, clearly - this is page 4.

Dear Captian NinnyPants:

Just how effing dumb are you? As dumb as a termite ridden fence post? As dumb as a quart of warm spit? Or are you as dumb as a pack of Camel No Filters?

What our good friend MrMeeks was decrying - you effing idiot bastard - was our other good friend Elvis's tardiness in Wanking the thread. Page 3! It took Elvis the incredible wanking carboy THREE PAGES to enter and Wank in please.

That is how dumb you are. You are too dumb to understand something so patently obvious to even the most casual underpants gnome breeding nitwit.

You are bereft of brain. Please die a lot now.

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Originally posted by stikkypixie:

Maybe he can take lessons with that new ssn, he can count pretty good, albeit a bit slow.

Oh and below guess what you lost 72-28. Not that come as as surprise to anyone, even though I was playing as the Italians. You might as well have save yourself some bandwith and press surrender at turn one

I demand a recount! Those overseas points will be coming in any day now and they will all be for me, I tells ya!

I'm actually amazed how well I did considering how badly I was outgunned. Throwing away a platoon of my tankettes early on in the game didn't help. From what I see on the map you had only one fully functional AFV left in the end that had a good barrel on it. Those Anti-tank rifles turned out not to be as bad as I thought. Seems they disabled a lot of your vehicles through casualties rather than knockouts.

You've proven too sticky for me this time, but I shall have my revenge. Your dangly bits will hang from the rear view mirror of my Chaika! Give me a week or so to pick a set up for your doom.

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Originally posted by MrPeng:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by v42below:

Don't be silly, clearly - this is page 4.

Dear Captian NinnyPants:

Just how effing dumb are you? As dumb as a termite ridden fence post? As dumb as a quart of warm spit? Or are you as dumb as a pack of Camel No Filters?

What our good friend MrMeeks was decrying - you effing idiot bastard - was our other good friend Elvis's tardiness in Wanking the thread. Page 3! It took Elvis the incredible wanking carboy THREE PAGES to enter and Wank in please.

That is how dumb you are. You are too dumb to understand something so patently obvious to even the most casual underpants gnome breeding nitwit.

You are bereft of brain. Please die a lot now. </font>

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He hates and therefore he's Peng!

<font size=1>*blush* Will you sign my t-shirt? It's for my... errr... brother... that's right my brother, which I have always had...his name is...Bob..but it's spelled v-4-2-b-e-l-o-w. Russian spelling...I know it's weird...</font>

BTW I am out of favour with the Queen so do you worst. I await your hateful remarks with interest and, of course, notepad and pen at the ready!

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[... meanwhile, back at the paddock it is Bohemian Night where stories are read from the great tome "Lives and Tribulations of the Romantic Poets". And as donkey and rubber gnome lay side by side, the pages and turned to Chapter 3 "The Shelleys at Home".]

Percy Bysshe: ... hmmm, Skylark, eh? I've never done a Skylark before... hum-de-hum-de-hum

*scribble* *scribble*

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

... not bad, not bad

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

... damn, I'm hot tonight...

In profuse strains of unpremeditated....

...eh, Muse, Muse, where art thou?

In profuse strains of unpremeditated...unpremeditated....?

Mary: [from another room] *giggle* *giggle*

Percy Bysshe: ...unpremeditated, unpremediatated, unpremeditated....?

Damn! Muse? Muse?

Mary: Bysshey, Bysshey, BYSSHEY! I'VE GOT A MONSTER! A REAL MONSTER!

Percy Bysshe: *mutter* Oh, feck, not again? *mutter*

Mary: WHAT SHALL WE CALL IT?

Percy Bysshe: [shouting through the walls] FRANKENSTUCK! WE'VE HAD THIS CONVERSATION BEFORE! FRANKENSTUCK!

I'M WORKING, DEAR... *mutter* [under the breath], please don't disturb the Artist at work *mutter*

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated....?

Mary: Bysshey, BYSSHEY!? HE'S ONLY A LITTLE MONSTER BUT HE'S SO CUTE. CAN WE GIVE HIM A POINTY HAT??

Percy Bysshe: *mutter* oh, Christ on a Crutch *mutter*

NO! MONSTERS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BIG!

Mary: ONE BOLT OR TWO?

Percy Bysshe: ONE!

NO TWO! GIVE 'IM A LIMP. GIVE 'IM TWO LIMPS!

*mutter* I'm feckin' limping through this life *mutter*

... AND A HUNCHBACK.

Mary: LOBOTOMY?

Percy Bysshe: YES, YES, GIVE IT A LOBOTOMY!

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated....

..unpremeditated fart

Bugger, Feck, Bugger... I'm a bleedin' Poet for Christ's sake!

Mary: Bysshey, BYSSHEY-CHUNKS ARE YOU GETTING STRESSED AGAIN?

*counts to 10*

NO DEAR, JUST TRYING TO COMPLETE SOMETHING

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated....

BOO

WHAT, WHAT?!.. blasted Wal-mart opium.

Mary: BOO? BOO? WHAT'S THAT?

Percy Bysshe: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!

Mary: CAN I USE A BOO FOR THE MONSTER?

Percy Bysshe: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!

[ January 20, 2005, 09:55 PM: Message edited by: Yeknodathon ]

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Originally posted by MrPeng:

</font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by v42below:

Don't be silly, clearly - this is page 4.

Dear Captian NinnyPants:

Just how effing dumb are you? As dumb as a termite ridden fence post? As dumb as a quart of warm spit? Or are you as dumb as a pack of Camel No Filters?

What our good friend MrMeeks was decrying - you effing idiot bastard - was our other good friend Elvis's tardiness in Wanking the thread. Page 3! It took Elvis the incredible wanking carboy THREE PAGES to enter and Wank in please.

That is how dumb you are. You are too dumb to understand something so patently obvious to even the most casual underpants gnome breeding nitwit.

You are bereft of brain. Please die a lot now. </font>

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(original unknown)

The Challengeers Have Hairy Ears

The challengeers have hairy ears,

They go without their britches,

They pop their c*cks with jagged rocks,

They're hardy sons of bitches.

They screw the whores right through their drawers,

They do not care for trifles -

They hang their balls upon the walls

And shoot at them with rifles.

Much joy they reap by diddling sheep

In divers nooks and ditches.

Nor give they a damn if it be a ram -

They're hardy sons of bitches.

.

.

.

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Originally posted by Joe Shaw:

*snip* V42below (spelt but not bolded) *snip*

Why am I not bolded all of a sudden? I request, nay demand an explanation. I will not be bolding Shaw until a suitable explanation is provided, Gawd knows he does enough bolding through the natural course of things...
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Originally posted by Yeknodathon:

[... meanwhile, back at the paddock it is Bohemian Night where stories are read from the great tome "Lives and Tribulations of the Romantic Poets". And as donkey and rubber gnome lay side by side, the pages and turned to Chapter 3 "The Shelleys at Home".]

Shelley.

Fair poet.

Lousy sailor.

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Originally posted by Lars:

Shelley.

Fair poet.

This one scores a bit above the "fair" mark:

Ozymandias

I met a traveler from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

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Originally posted by stikkypixie:

You wrote poetry in high school? Hah-ha!

I did ...

The year was nineteen sixty eight and Doug had yet to mate,

And not a girl that he knew, would try it on a date.

So alone and virgin there he sat, up in his loft one day,

When who should come a trottin' by, but Becky Stuck so gay

... (this was before GAY meant something else)

Say, Becky, shouted Doug on high, come up and spend some time.

I will, I will, said Becky below, my price is but a dime.

So up she came and Doug then paid the dime that she had asked.

Some lovin' then transpired, 'twas the first but not the last.

It goes on from there but you get the idea.

Joe

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