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Fantastic word game

Again and again, oenophiles refer to the "barnyard" smell of certain wines with terms such as "horse stable" or "cow-pie."
 
"Horse stable" or "cow-pie" were not phrases often heard while I was hanging out in some Jersey Shore arcades in the 1980s playing Asteroids, Pac-Man, Tetris, and Centipede.
 
Asteroids, Pac-Man, Tetris, and Centipede will meet their match once people learn about the new upcoming TFWG: The Board Game.
 
Half-way (or halfway, as this ol' hayseed prefers) between a rock n' a hard place is where the Mayflower Man sits, as he contemplates returning to what was once his cozy, plush, corner office, yet knowing full-well that doing so will also unlock a certain building featurin' a cobweb-filled hayloft.

What say you, Mayflower Man? We'll accept the terms of the recent HOSS proposal, and relinquish the abandoned office back to yer control, in return for the darkened barnyard, the assurance you'll shut up belly-achin' about 'rasslin, the critters, and anything else we decide to come up with to play with in this here game, and that PowerWorld, LLC. set aside the funds and manpower to immediately construct an agriculture wing to the HQ, I am named Executive Director of the Department of Agriculture (EDDA, if we all agree), and you give a public apology to my currently unmentionable sidekick for ever makin' her feel unwelcome in this here game. She'll also be the VP of the new ag department, and associated branch offices, by the way. I also want a title created for The High Chief. His choice as to what that may be.

Shake, we've got a deal, and the HOSS will go down in the annals of FWG History as the hero who negotiated the deal that brought our two worlds together to live in perfect harmony.
 
Unlock a certain building featurin' a cobweb-filled hayloft and you'll be seeing my head explode with brain matter splattering all over the walls of that damned hayloft.

scanman, I can't even put into words how much that support means to me. I actually might weep.

But, having said that, I need to think about it. I'm actually enjoying my forced vacation from my former plush and cozy GCCO.

rosecity, don't open up the farm gates yet. My people will get back to your people before, or perhaps at, the next 80s Rockfest at the new Illusions Saturday night.
 
Brain matter splattering all over the walls of that damned hayloft should happen only if someone were to spray paint a Sinister Semicolon or an Evil Ellipsis on the wall.

Just make sure n' certain yer people call the house first. My ol' bloodhound can sniff out a posse of Yankees comin' up the long dirt road from a mile away, n' we don't take kindly to unexpected visitors, hombre. 😉
 
On the wall painted, or in the tree carved, the initials WMC+RCM will never be seen, regardless of whether or not the rascal up yonder decides to recognize the Head of Safety and Security for the genius he is.

I would also ask that Scanman accept our own Bubba the Bouncer into the graces of his security detail. He's a lil' backwards, n' you'll hafta talk to him kind-a slooooow, but he's been mighty loyal to me, Rosie, Mama Rose, the unmentionable ones, and sure 'nuff is smitten with the Petite Blonde Intern. I'd hate to see him just kicked to the curb, or even worse yet, forced to live the rest of his days eatin' a steady diet o' government cheese, in his van, down by the river.
 
The genius he is is exactly why he is our HOSS which means he has extremely high standards for himself and each and every member of his team.

That decision would be up to scanman should my decision move forward.
 
Each and every member of his team apparently needs some retrainin' in the basics of thwartin' a band of ne'er-do-wells, and that's glaringly apparent after we all just recently witnessed a certain hayseed redneck, and his accompanying posse, infiltrate the compound and shut down the status quo.

I reckon ol' 6'8", 375 lb. Bubba can, at least, help in curbin' any future occupations by those renegade neighborin' band camps, or any of the many competin' hayseed farmers.
 
"A-ha!" he exclaimed, when he realized that the Status Quo was a real band, best known for drawing (or in this case, singing) Pictures Of Matchsitck Men.

It was 1968...
 
UK psychedelic rock pairs quite nicely with the assorted gummy line that our distinguished colleagues in Vermont are known for.
 
Fly by the seat of yer pants, if you go n' try to play Fantastic Word Game without, first, familiarizin' yerself on how we do it.
 
Sleeping on the road that leads up to The RCM Ranch, I found an odd, but somehow familiar man who, in his left shirt pocket, was deliverin' a handwritten letter with no return address, no postmark, no stamp, and inside of it, only a single tri-folded piece of paper with a hastily scribbled note on it warnin' me that things ain't always what they seem.
 


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