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Fantastic word game

Camp, including the upcoming winter session, is being shut down per order of PowerWorld LLC and the Board of Governors until all this wrestling/rasslin/proletarian/revolution/hen/chicken/cow talk comes to an end.

Those orders come from the highest level, way above me, because it's not healthy for the little band campers to be subjected to all that crap.
Which is just fine because I've about had it with all of that myself. Just might be time to 'pull a Stuart' and take a long break.
 
An end has come, far too soon, to the nascent popular revolt, the no-holds-barred loser-leave-town match in a steel cage, the cow milking, the egg laying, and all that carrying on and general redneckery in the barn and the boudoir, which is a shame, but hey, it was fun while it lasted.
 
It lasted almost a week without being refrigerated.

Connie's latest lactose-rich offering, that is.

You don't really think I'm giving up my heifer and her zany tales, do you? Well, do you?

WMC, are you kiddin' the redneck? Do you want to cancel yer weekly milk bottle delivery, too? Yer gonna take yer ball n' go home? Really? Come on now, hombre. Ain't no call fer any of that boo-hooin'. Cowboy up! Some of us have had to put up with yer same ol', same ol' dreck fer years. YEARS!

We don't want you to go away mad, partner, we just want to remove you from yer plush office and let you live the remainder of yer days exiled in "The Fantastic Lunch Songs Game". You can rule the roost there, and shove all the tasty tidbits in yer mouth that yer heart desires. The lovely library interns are fed up with havin' sore hineys from the dad blamed pinchin', and the heifer really wants to graze on that shag, green carpeting of yers.

Yer invitation to a Saturday evening of boot scootin' and tight britches that were obviously poured on the gaggle of corn-fed hussies, always loitering around the upper balcony at Rosie's Dance Hall and Saloon still stands. We accept Yankees, y'know. If CT can get past Bubba the Bouncer with his slick, linguistically accurate dialect, then you should be good to go, too.

Edit to add: Henrietta has informed me that the heifer and PBI have been on a non-stop teleconference since WMC's announcement. @scanman1, you and your detail are being reassigned to The Vermont Boudoir (TVTB, if you prefer). Please see Miss Kayla for y'all's onboardin' package.
 
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Being refrigerated since 1966, Walt Disney's head still awaits the technological capabilities of attaching it to a superhuman body.

A rosecitymedia production, with the heifer distracted and looking the other way. I think you want the cow involved, folks. This redneck absolutely needs the counterbalance.
 
Nothing more should be said about deposing WMC from his position as Game Czar after 18 years of service and dedication to TFWG because, let's face it, no one else really wants the job.
 
No one else really wants the job, Padre, but that won't likely stop the Petite Blonde Intern, Constance the Cow, Henrietta the know-it-all hen, Dudley Donkey, Bodacious Bubba (Rosie's personal security goon), the distinguished Linguistics Czar, or our new recruit Mr. Ed (and his lovely pound o' ground round, Patty) from abolishing the position altogether.

Good news headin' to yer mailbox, Padre. We will certainly need a good man of the faith, like yerself, who'll continue to deliver some of the greatest Early Morning Contributions the world-wide interwebs have ever known.
 
A disaster of biblical proportions (shouldn't biblical be capitalized?) occurred in Pecos, just a few days ago, causing 2 UP engineer fatalities and sending an intermodal flat car crashing into a building.

Horrible accident, and the truck driver's spotter is likely to be strung up by his toes for being at fault. Very depressing and extremely heartbreaking.

We sure do love us some Bill Murray, though. Sure 'nuff appreciate that Ghostbusters clip, Padre.
 
Crashing into a building is probably not the best option to deal with hearing that we're all pretty bored and tired with the nonstop barnyard chatter for everybody but children, and insisting on the same old same old, while everybody else wonders exactly what could be going on with those critters anyway.
 
Anyway, Miss Silkie, you and Sweetie Pie have the word of a pure-bred Texan that I'll retire Constance, and the rest of the critters, from the game exactly one second after WMC steps down from the throne.

That's not a prediction, darling, that's a spoiler. You have my word.

As for the PBI, the maple syrup, and The Vermont Boudoir, you'll have to schedule an appointment and visit the linguistics office to make that request.
 
The throne of porcelain is where I'm sitting as I laugh loudly at the latest submissions to this thread, hoping the neighbor on the other side of the bathroom wall doesn't think I'm any crazier than I already am.

Curiously, rcm, current dictionaries and style guides have "biblical" lowercase, "Bible" uppercase.
 
I think Miss Silkie has chosen to stick with the old guard and steer clear of a bunch of hooligans (and their collection of imaginary subordinate cast mates) having some fun by causing a little trouble.

Likely for the best. Y'all think WMC's oogling n' gropin' of the lovely library interns is bad, just imagine what would happen if they were all turned loose on a down South, rip-roarin' honky-tonk or, heaven forbid, worse. They might end up in the darkest corner of The Vermont Boudoir (TVTB, as we troublemakers prefer) sitting through a full week-long marathon of language and punctuation lessons.
 
Causing a little trouble has been a pastime lately here at The Fantastic Word Game, (TFWG as you prefer) by a few malcontents.
 
Purge the place, rosecity, of all of your critters one second from now because I resign my post (even though I was never elected to it) as Game Czar of the Fantastic Word Game.

And, since I am no longer Game Czar, I will no longer be welcoming anyone to the weekend or to another 80s Rockfest at the new Illusions. That's the job of Game Czar. I would nominate dmargalotti but, as I'm no longer Game Czar, I am no longer on the Executive Board so I don't have that privilege. I turned in my Game Czar keys to the Board of Governors this afternoon, one of whom personally watched me clean out my now former plush and cozy Game Czar corner office and then escorted me out of the building.
 
Game Czar of the Fantastic Word Game (or GC-TFWG if you prefer) is apparently a title that no longer exists, because Farmer Jones has been run out of town, but the cries of "Four legs good, two legs bad!" will soon be replaced by chants of "Four legs good, two legs better!"

For those of you not in the know, it's a reference to George Orwell's "Animal Farm." All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others. And then there is this one for you: "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss!"
 
Four legs good, two legs better for jumping on the corner turnbuckle and raising up two fingers, while my tag team partner (the Cerebral Heel) stares out to the crowd with a seething disdain for what the audience had allowed to transpire over the past decade plus, in a celebratory tandem display of devilish chest puffing and strutting after taking down the once mighty authority figure.

You heard him, girl. Back in yer stall and have some alfalfa. Yer work is done here, darlin'. Everybody else! Back to yer pens! You too, Henrietta. It's time to roost.

Mr. Ed, we thank you (and your pound o' ground round) mightily fer the assist.

WMC, we'll see ya around, hombre.

Hey, CT, looky over here! They left the door unlocked to Miss Silkie's shop. Free tidbits for all!
 


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