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Fantastic word game

A man from Nantucket, the protagonist in many a limerick, knows just what to do in rhyme when he encounters a woman, or even another man, but the details will have to be withheld from this post in the interest of propriety.
 
[Puts on best Sgt. Schultz accent]

Tell us what we want to know.
 
We want to know nothing!

(New clue is 'nothing'.)

My best Colonel Klink impression: HOOOOOOOOOOOOGGGGGGAAANNNNNNN!!
My best Major Hochstetter impression: What is this man doing here???

 
Social media, once upon a time, simply involved sittin' 'round the color console as a family, n' watchin' a little television.
 
A little television problem that annoyed countless viewers, once upon a time, was the picture "flipping," which required someone, usually Dad, to get off the couch and adjust the vertical hold.

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who'd curse at his set "Damn! F--- it!"
The picture would tumble
as Daddy would mumble
So he finally chose to unplug it!
 
Soap, as Granny used to quip, is only worth its weight if'n it contains lye.

Ah, yes. The vertical hold. Almost as big a pain in the hiney as gettin' sent outside to adjust the aerial.
 
At this point, I'll simply say "good mornin'" to all, n' keep the sassy commentary 'bout WMC's all too common, n' regularly coma inducin' end clues to myself.

See? I ain't always gotta be a rabble-rouser.
 
Up to now, I thought that we were moving along a path to peace here at TFWG with all of us setting our grievances aside for the good of the game, but it seems now that hostilities are being reignited as warning shots have been fired by both sides.
 
Substantial wounds occur from bein' blasted by a rifle with a long-range scope.

Settle down there, Padre. We're more like Russia n' Ukraine than Israel n' I-ran. Mr. Mayflower n' I are honorin' a "ceasefire" that still has shells bein' lobbed across our borders, here n' there.
 
You think things were bad 'round here with Constance the Cow roamin' the Fantastic yard, n' even called her part o' "The Dark Years", as I have read, but just wait n' see what the Linguistics Czar (n' his Petite Blonde Intern) gifted into my repertoire that'll make y'all beg fer a heifer's immediate return.

It's gonna be a Holly, jolly Christmas 'round here, I'll tell you what.
 


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