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Fantastic word game

A 30 mph zone can sometimes sneak up on you pretty quickly when you've been traveling for a while on a long stretch of otherwise empty roadway with a posted speed limit of 55 mph, but I guess that's why they call them speed traps.

I remember my dad driving us down to Florida in the early 70's before construction of I-95 had been completed. He got pulled over for speeding in some small town somewhere in the middle of Maryland and he was given the choice of paying the fine there on the spot (cash only), or spending the night in jail. Things were a lot different back then.
 
Speed traps do not seem to be set up anywhere when cars are zipping around me as I am doing the speed limit and feel like I am going backwards.

Better to just let them go around, given that I would be the one they suddenly appeared for.
 
Moonwalking might have been an interesting bit with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, who did exactly as he did, but backwards in high heels.
 
The hemp would get a mid-carder suspended for failing a drug screen in the current Wellness Program protocol, but when you're the megastar who's bringing in the majority of the gate, a little wacky tobaccy in the system would be easily overlooked.

High heels! Good gawd almighty, Stuart pulled a whale of a funny.
 
Easily overlooked by wrestling referees are the foreign objects heels (high or otherwise) hide in their trunks, a dirty tactic perfected by '70s and '80s stars such as George Steele and Abdullah the Butcher.
 
The butcher and the housekeeper were quite the hot item on The Brady Bunch, but when ol' Alice thought that Sam was taking the next step by surprising her with an engagement ring, he, instead, presented her with a bowling ball.
 
A heave ho throw down the alley was what Fred Flintstone intended to give his Stone Age bowling ball, but it slipped from his fingers, went straight up, and crashed down on his foot.

Yabba-dabba-diiii! Yi-yi-yiiii!
 
His foot kept trying to kick the return of wrestling talk out the door but that was denied when some mysterious person slammed the door on his toe.

There was nothing but a trail of freshly pumped cow milk as evidence.
 
His toe would not have been slammed in the door had he not stuck it sideways in the doorway to brace the door.
 
A harsh rebuke from CTListener, our ever faithful and highly intellectual Director of Linguistics (Linguistics Czar, as rednecks all over the South prefer) would certainly be warranted, if structure by offered one the sentence of were us this like.

This ain't Fantastic Word Jumble, by golly. Don't be that guy.
 
If you so desire, the RCM Ranch's clubhouse is now open and serving libations until dawn.

If that don't butter your cornbread, just remember that fresh milk is also readily available and always free. 🐮
 


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