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Fantastic word game

That means yer under the assumption the cabinet wasn't "Made in China" like most everything else.

Parts o' the barn remain, compadre. I type this concoction o' thoughts live n' livin' color from the loft. Feels like I might've found myself with an infestation o' chiggers, however. Suckers make me itch purdy bad, I'll tell you what. I guess as long as it don't rain, lookin' down over the charred remains ain't so bad from this here vantage point.

I sure do miss my heifer, though.
 
Everything else at PowerWorld and band camp, from the bull to the education materials to the safety and grounds equipment, is proudly manufactured right here in the good ole US of A.

No tariffs required.
 
Proudly manufactured right here in the good ol' US of A, then die-rectly shipped overseas to be assembled in a hot, humid, haze-filled, pungent-smellin' sweatshop by a group of underaged kids that this currently unnamed overseas country considers an acceptable working class.
 
Working class kids (and adults, for that matter) are generally too busy slaving away for their meager pay to play word games well, or to play them at all, so I've never had to issue demerits to any of them.

A certain Texan radio professional with an imaginary side hustle as a redneck rancher, though, runs afoul of my linguistic wrath all too often. This time, our favorite faux rube has entered a sentence fragment instead of a complete sentence. The intern will get around to sending yet another punitive parcel in a southwesterly direction (or die-rection, as the rube prefers) on Monday.
 
Any of them there gummies included in that parcel?

'Cuz I desperately need a couple o' 'em to see things yer way. Ain't no fragment I can see through these Miller Lite-sponsored beer goggles.
 
That parcel to rosecity should include directions (or, die-rections if he prefers) around that contribution of his so he can see that there is no appropriate subject and verb.

It's basically just a bunch of prepositional phrases, adjectival (if that's a word) phrases, perhaps even adverbial and/or dangling participle phrases slapped together. I need to find my How To Diagram A Sentence bible. It's around here somewhere.
 
No appropriate subject and verb is required when you're fluent in the beautiful language n' sentence structure o' a Southern beer-swillin' chawbacon.

I don't remember anyone askin' fer yer $0.02, up there in Worcester, Mayflower Man. The long distance call from the hayloft was dialed die-rectly (yes, indeed, I do prefer) to the boudoir.
 
A Southern beer-swillin' chawbacon sounds mighty dee-licious if I was in the mood for that sort of thing.

No, you didn't ask for my $0.02 and I don't care if you did or not. I was merely agreeing with the DoL regarding his description of your contribution.
 
Any of that hard-to-read stuff just sounds like a bad techno remix of a song that would have been on "Hee Haw," so the hope is that someone else has posted before I got a chance to reply.

And don't get me wrong. I appreciated everything I remember about "Hee Haw" in its context. which was much easier to follow.
 
Understand that I am with quadraphonic on this matter.

I tend to send some encouraging thoughts to quad when I submit my TPS Reports.
 
This matter is probably exacerbated, or at least influenced, by my finely-honed old man qualities.

But as an aside, the staff TPS Report returns are up into the 90 percentile, so that's nice. Executive returns are still 100% as completing them is such an integral part of the executive functions.
 
Old man qualities include havin' thoughts runnin' through my head like why isn't an iPhone charger simply called "Apple Juice", n' why on earth that weird guy up yonder finds himself suddenly cravin' the taste o' another man?

So, hey, congratulations on finally comin' outta the closet, but my hayloft just ain't open fer that sorta thing. I specialize in bottlin' milk, hon, not packin' fudge.
 
Monday, indeed, is here again, and the punitive parcel is in the mail to rcm, with whom I have a story line-related bone to pick.

That being this: "What or who in tarnation is supplyin' this milk you claim to be bottlin', Mr. I-Sure-Do-Miss-My-Heifer?"
 
Treasure the time you have at band camp because, sooner than you think, you will be entering the real world of responsibilities.
 


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