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Fantastic word game

Bull milk drippin' from yer hands will, no doubt, have rednecks n' hayseeds all over the South laughin' at you over yer udder ignorance.

Once you've been released from the hospital, that is.
 
Policy o' the RCM Ranch is to simply straddle the fence.

'Cuz there's a heapin' helpin' o' stupidity comin' outta both the donkey n' the elephant.
 
The meaning of life ends with a choreographed musical number up in Heaven, according to the 1983 Monty Python movie of the same name.
 
Bugs Bunny had a ramblin' redneck o' his very own, n' dare I say that w/o ol' Yosemite Sam (The Greatest Looney Tune, as I pre-fer) in the picture, the world o' Merrie Melodies woulda been a far less entertaining place.


I'll be absent from the hayloft tomorrow. Y'all have a good weekend and spend some time with someone who you love. You just never know when the opportunities to do so will conclude.
 
A far less entertaining place occurs when kenny is absent for an 80s Rockfest but, thankfully, that rarely happens.
 
Breakfast at Denny's is beyond-this-world-good-eatin' especially after getting down with your own bad self for several hours during the 80s Rockfest.

Speaking of both of those things, join us tomorrow night at the new Illusions for a CT-favorite time-centric Daylight Saving Time edition of the 80s Rockfest. Even though we lose an hour at 2am, we will continue on for as long as people doing their thing. The permanently-guarded, Denny's-sponsored mechanical bull is awaiting your arrival. Join us in person or via the huge PowerWorld livestream. Join us later at Denny's as kenny prepares some great grub. Have a great weekend!!
 
During the 80s Rockfest, a half-lit hayseed looked up from underneath the brim o' his Stetson hat, caught a glimpse o' what was a goin' on, undid his hubcap-sized belt buckle from his britches, sailed that sucker clean across the new Illusions' dance floor, n' dee-capitated a couple o' long-haired headbangers standin' near the stage n' throwing up the horns.

Ain't no headbangers en-rolled at the University o' Texas, by gum, n' we just ain't havin' none o' that thar kinda worshippin' happenin' with the good Padre (n' his spiritually-infused chalice) present in the house.
 
Throwing up the horns, the Denny's-sponsored, permanently-guarded mechanical bull bucked with all his might in an attempt to throw the latest victim up to the ceiling.
 
The ceiling o' the new Illusions has what I thought was a four letter, hastily-tagged, dirty word on it, painted in high dollar Krylon, but upon closer inspection o' the scribblin' it appears it twern't no word a'tall, instead, bein' the four letters of "IDBC".

Appears to me that the Padre...er, International Die-rector o' Band Camp...went n' marked him sum territory.
 
The four letters of "IDBC" are there because dmargalotti was the very first victim of the mechanical bull (pre-Denny's-sponsored, permanently-guarded) and was hung up in the rafters for so long that he left a trail in case nobody found him in time.

Because, you see, it was after hours at the new Illusions, he was doing cleanup on his own, made an unwise decision to ride the bull, and since there was no protection for the bull at the time, nobody knew what happened until the janitor came in the next morning. He was quite literally just hanging around from the rafters. Poor guy.
 
Meatballs are the Madre's specialty, er so I hear, n' that's really no surprise when you realize that her culinary expertise is dee-riived from her Italian blood.

At least...I reckon that's it. Then a'gin, maybe the Padre is a wayward I-talian, ike me, who pre-fers a lady he ain't gotta worry 'bout upsettin' n' gettin' a hit put out on him.

I chose a swamp-lovin' Cajunette myself. That sure wudn't a safer dee-sishun, I'll tell you what.
 
Her Italian blood has, apparently, whacked ev'ry soul lingerin' here n' playing the game.

A couple EMCs from the boudoir n' ranch yesterday, then poof! Radio silence. Well, howdy nonetheless to one n' all. Did no one set the clocks ahead at the new Illusions Saturday night?
 


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