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Fantastic word game

A handful of leaves is used to cover up your leavings.

Just 2 days until our huge 18th anniversary. 18 years and we are talking about 'plumbing'. If you know what I mean. :rolleyes:

Normally, on the big day, I'd post an anniversary contribution on the board here at RD mentioning the anniversary. I think I'll do that today.
 
Your leavings from the plush Game Czar office, to go and sneak off with that young library intern (also about to reach her 18th anniversary on this earth), has been documented and filed for future strategic purposes.

Didn't think the heifer was watching, did ya?
 
Documented and filed for future strategic purposes, I have posted about our 18th anniversary on the Introduce Yourself board so that everyone will know how long this game has been in existence.

Yup, check out my post on the Introduce Yourself board.

Who knows. Perhaps a moderator or admin will actually congratulate us with an in-game contribution. It's never happened before but a Game Czar can always dream.

rosecity, I did not sneak off with that intern. We were very much in the public eye. And I was counselling her on future career possibilities with PowerWorld. Who is your new friend in your profile picture?
 
This game has been in existence for just as long as the young library interns have.

My point being, and the joke in and of itself, is that she's underage. Apparently, that holds no bearing with you, hombre, in sneaking off with barn kept bovine or library dwelling interns. 🤷

Why... that's my vision of the Petite Blonde Intern (Magical Fingered Milk Maiden, as rednecks everywhere prefer), kind sir. Her body and soul may be back in Vermont nowadays, but her heart is firmly planted in Texas.

Just don't tell the Linguistics Czar she, the heifer and I are exchanging late night Polaroids. I don't need him sending his gummy dealer down here to try and rough us up.
 
The young library interns have apparently been busy finding Christmas music that the cows would enjoy.

I don't play just the same 100 songs they play.


 
Christmas music that the cows would enjoy is also Christmas music that the horses would say "Neigh" to.

(So sayeth the late, great Gene Autry, my first singing cowboy fascination. Take that, Roy Rogers.)
 
Christmas music that the horses would say "neigh" to doesn't actually exist, but there are a few of the old yuletide standards that make a couple of my mustangs whinny incessantly.

Connie thought she saw the gummy dealer breezing up our road, so we felt it safest to snap a selfie and change the avatar again, folks. Sorry, no more PBI/MF2M eye candy for y'all. It just leads to too much paranoia in dairy land.
 
Incessantly contributing is sure to bring us somewhere someday.

My anniversary announcement was moved to the Games board.
 
Somewhere someday and somehow, the you know what will go missing from the smoke filled bar area of you know where.

...and you know who will be responsible for it all.
 
This cold time of year ought to be left up there with you Yankees, and kept far away from us rednecks who are more warm weather types.

They say hell is all about fire and brimstone, but your resident redneck's own personal hell will be all snow and ice. I hate it so.

Connie's hell, for those yearning to know, will be spent in a multi-acre pasture without one single blade of grass anywhere around, and surrounded by a bunch of city slickers who'll not know how to extract that liquid goodness from her ample udders.
 
Living at the North Pole after the children's toy production rush is over can be boring for everyone in the Christmas business, especially in the dead of winter, so every January, a few of Santa's more mischievous elves set about designing and manufacturing adult toys to spice up the Clauses' love life.
 
The narrative that I am opposed to drunken elf debauchery is as false as George Washington's teeth.

But I will admit that there is a time and a place for everything, and when it comes to drunken elf debauchery (DEF as some prefer), this is neither the time nor the place. :giggle:
 
George Washington's teeth might have also been the handiwork of elves, but rest assured that whatever kinky (in an 18th century way) bedroom escapades that the Father of His Country and Martha may have engaged in using those dentures were done with the elves sound asleep in their far-off polar quarters.

And that's where they were when the Clauses got it on, too. Really, dm! The very idea! And who prefers DEF as an acronym for Drunken Elf Debauchery?
 
Home gaming systems tend to keep kids home and out of the public eye from going outside to find things to do on the way to the arcade.
 


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