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Fantastic word game

Immediately proceed through the nearest exit door if a ragin' bull ever gets loose in the arena.
 
Loose in the arena, the ragin' bull took a left out the door and headed south towards the RCM Ranch (or rcm ranch if anyone prefers).
 
The RCM Ranch (or rcm ranch if anyone prefers), as far as I know, is home to a cow, maybe a bull (mentioned once in this game), and nothing else, as its proprietor has never once mentioned any other livestock or any crops.
 
Detective Sipowicz wouldn't be able to pry the deep, dark secrets out of the RCM Ranch, no matter how thorough the investigation.

Oh dear, CT. This is exactly why I've not introduced the rest of my critters to y'all. How quickly you've already forgotten about our dearly departed rooster named Rusty. Remember him? The Cajun Queen took him out of his misery with a frying pan in response to a kerfuffle out in the yard that he instigated.

We produce dairy, partner. You think Connie is here just for her striking looks? The hay bales, scattered about the property, are sold for a little extra pocket change, but that liquid gold coming from the heavenly teat is where the Ranch's bread is buttered.

I'm sure the Magical Fingered Milk Maiden will give you a full report and introduction to the entire cast of characters at the Ranch, Rosie's Dance Hall and Saloon (including the shenanigans ongoing out on the back deck), and what lives and lies at the feet of those who dare to ride in the back car of the Rose City Express, once she returns to Vermont for the holidays. She's clearly expressed to me her unwillingness to partake in the traditional possum pie Thanksgiving dinner that I'm cooking for the crew. Please...make sure and certain she's got those two bottles of syrup, that I have specifically requested, packed securely in her suitcase before she heads back to the farm after the new year.
 
The investigation into the planned abduction of the mechanical bull from the new Illusions has hit a few snags thanks to the lack of witnesses who are willing to come forward.
 
The lack of witnesses who are willing to come forward in the upcoming harassment case of Constance the Cow v. WMC2006 (also using the alias "(T)FWG Game Czar") is not of much concern to the plaintiff as there is, apparently, videotape evidence.
 
All by itself, this storyline is not my cup of tea so you'll excuse me if I avoid it altogether.

All PowerWorld locations in Florida have been shut down and buttoned up (save for a few brave men from scanman's security teams). The entire Executive Board (myself, dmargalotti, scanman, CT, Miss Silkie and hopefully quadraphonic) will travel there Friday morning to assess damage and reopening dates.
 
What's happening with Milton is, quite frankly, a hell of a lot more sinister than most of us FWGers are willing to accept.

MAybe I should start spraying Connie with steamed milk and see where that leads. MF2M doesn't get it yet, but that will be resolved in the continued process of deprogramming her previously learned Yankee ways.

You're getting Kayla back for the holidays, my linguistics amigo, but she ain't gonna be quite the same Petite Blonde Intern you sent down this way.
 
An active imagination is rather beneficial to playing Fantastic Word Game.

"Need need"? I'd be expecting expecting a demerit demerit, dmargalotti. Sorry, partner. Looks like the weather department ain't totally run by the man upstairs anymore.
 
December 3, 2006, also was the first day that a clueless player or two violated the game's rules.

A tradition that continues to this day, and the above post by dmargalotti, which contains an extra boldface word. No demerits from me, as this is not a linguistics-related offense, but I expect the Game Czar to take care of business.
 
Rules of the game do not prohibit a well-timed mention of my favorite guilty pleasure, every once in a while, and thus results in the personal offering of a figurative elbow smash from the top rope, here and there.

As performed for y'all fine members of the audience in post #48,532. I mean, I gotta represent all the rasslin' lovin' ramblin' redneck wing nuts from East Texas (and all across the good ol' US of A, if the nation prefers).

Right? Yee haw! 🤠
 
They never do pick up those damn milk bottles we timely leave next to the entrance gate.

What's the cotton-picking problem? They're clearly marked with a postage stamp apiece.
 


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