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Fantastic word game

After an extended period of time, I thought CT's death wish for the Denny's-sponsored mechanical bull had gone by the boards.

Looks like it's time for another private meeting with the Board of Governors.
 
The boards of the floor beneath my feet creaked and flexed as I jumped up and down with excitement because I had finally seen CTListener committing a posting error in contribution #47,597 when he neglected to capitalize the "I" in his sentence.

CT, as a long-standing contributor and member of the Executive Team, I am entering a motion that your powers to issue demerits be revoked for 24 hours. Who will second my motion?
 
Necessary demerits have already been issued to WMC, in the redneck's book, for having the sheer nerve to bad-mouth my sweet Constance, when all she did was stand there and simply take what little he had to offer.

There wasn't even a sigh of derision from her. I make no apologies for my part in interjecting some desperately needed fresh material into the game.
 
From state to state with a jar of gummies in my possession is a route I try not to drive when that other state is New Hampshire, but doing the same from here in Vermont to Massachusetts or New York is no problem so long as I don't open the jar and chew a couple.

Allow me to penalize myself three demerits for unfairly criticizing rcm three posts back. I misread his #47,607 as announcing that demerits had been issued to me, when they'd actually been issued to WMC. I caught my error too late to correct the post.
 
Fantastic Word Game deserves a new weekend greeting from the resident redneck, and just for good measure...one of those.

Greetings fellow FWGers, it's the weekend! We're so glad you've made it through your work week, hopefully unscathed and ready for some excitement as we start the new month and find ourselves midway through the calendar year.

Come join me, my bovine, the Petite Blonde Intern, The Cajun Queen, Stuart, Miss Phyllis, a roomful of hayseed plow boys and girls, and the head honcho in charge of words and punctuation, as we line dance the night away at Rosie's Dance Hall and Saloon. A real, live bull will take you on the ride of your life, and if you last the full :08, your first six-pack of Miller Lite is on us. Miller Lite. Tastes great, less filling, and the proud sponsor of the RCM Ranch's official cowbell. Afterwards, we invite you to join us at El Guero's Late Night Mexicatessen for all-you-can-eat tamales and chimichangas. Mmm, mmm! They ARE delicious. Otherwise, feel free to join the Game Czar for his usual 80's affair, followed by a gathering at the Denny's that just closed it's doors recently. Word from the pasture, it was over health code concerns.

In closing, I will paraphrase an old line from the legendary "Nature Boy" Ric Flair. "Whether you like it, or you don't like it, learn to love it. Because the rambling redneck, Connie, the Doctor of Wordanomics, and the Petite Blonde Intern, as a distinctive part of Fantastic Word Game, are the best things going today! Woooooo!"

Edit to add: If you revert back a dozen or so pages, you will see that I have not mentioned anything wrestling related in awhile. Buc-ee's, yes. Connie, yes. Several other off-the-wall subjects, indeed. But not wrestling. Stopped that specifically for you, WMC, yet still you bellyache and gripe. Guess there's just no suiting you. 😂
 
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One of those bulls you own had Constance in a family way a while back, if I recall a post of yours on the topic correctly.

So, is Connie still going to be a mom? And is she still with the bull? If so, what does the bull think of her other relationships?
 
Correctly or incorrectly remembered I can not say, and the truth of the matter is that I spew so much half-drunken nonsense on Fantastic Word Game that it's certainly a possibility that I may have stated something like that.

I certainly don't recollect saying that any bull had had his way with my dear Connie, and I just checked my large array of ammunition here at the Ranch. All accounted for. I think I'd remember putting down any livestock that had violated my precious dairy cow. Only Kayla, and that rather unsatisfying one night affair with you-know-who, have known Connie in that manner, CT.
 
Something like that Rosie's Dance Hall and Saloon is not for me so I'll do what I do every Friday.

Which is welcome everyone to the weekend and invite everyone to another fantastic 80s Rockfest tomorrow night at the new Illusions. Join us, won't you? You know you want to. Then on to Denny's for some great grub! Whether you join us or head south for some massive indigestion, have a great weekend!!
 
Every Friday afternoon my buddy Dave and I would have lunch at Collegio's Pizza in downtown Clarion while listening to "Hungry Like The Wolf" and "Come On Eileen" on the jukebox. 🍕
 
"Hungry Like The Wolf" and "Come On Eileen" on the jukebox at Rosie's Dance Hall and Saloon would get that beautiful, old Wurlitzer we feature thrown clean out the window.

Everything you could imagine on the playlist, from the likes of Hoyt Axton and Bob Wills to Jelly Roll and Morgan Wallen, are readily available for you dancing pleasure, but the rowdy crowd that typically turns up for a night of boot scootin' and honky-tonkin' wouldn't tolerate any of that Du-ran Du-Ran or Dexy's Rider, at midnight or noon.

The Linguistics Czar has pointed out to me, while we conversed in the back room of Rosie's last night, that he'd caught me tellin' a tall tale. I'm sorry, folks. Connie ain't pregnant, hell, she's never even felt the masculine touch of an ornery ol' bull. What a time we had last night, y'all. We just finished picking up the place, and dragged out the Petite Blonde Intern from beneath the bar, where she apparently passed out after finishing off the barback's crème fraiche.
 
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Thrown clean out the window is a sad fate for any jukebox, in my opinion, so why not just empty that Wurlitzer and fill it with better music?

Compare that to throwing a mechanical bull clean out the window, of which I heartily approve, as there's nothing anybody can do to one by emptying and refilling its innards that will change its essential "bullness."
 
Better music, such as "Yakety Sax", would be a fitting accompaniment for any one of my fellow East Texan rednecks to try giving that mechanical bull a brand new purpose.

California ain't got nothing on our own sheer ability to recycle and re-purpose. Case in point, I present to y'all the lovely Rose City Express. Take you anywhere you dare to go within the confines of Smith County, Texas.
 

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