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Fantastic word game

Items on the menu will be approved by the distinguished Die-rector of Game Excess, and be rest assured that Gordon Ramsay has nothin' on the High Chief's impeccable standards.

Ain't nothin' but champagne wishes n' caviar dreams comin' outta his highly-respected teepee.
 
The amount of barnyard animal references that can be made in a single 24-hour period did not originate from the only actual farmland 'round these here Fantastic parts and, as you can plainly see, further illustrates to our distinguished audience that me n' my now unmentionable ones were never actually the problem.

Can't you feel it, Padre? Freedom is ringin' 'round here. Spontaneity is flowin' faster than the nacho cheese dispenser at Buc-ee's. Kemosabe's now a part o' our family, scanman has done gone a lil' country with his task force and creatin' new characters fer himself, heck, you've even created a whole new efficiency department!

The Fantastic Tire (TFT, if you prefer) is, finally, outta the mud hole.

Edit to add: Dang! So much messin' around, that I didn't call you out fer overlookin' my submission, Padre. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Expect a word or two from up yonder in the boudoir. Betcha the High Chief ain't gonna be none too pleased with bein' left to dangle like that, neither.
 
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Desired result of this post is to tie up the loose ends between the Padre n' I, n' fixin' the problem.

We've been two steppin', n' I think both of us now have a smartin' toe.
 
Plowing ahead with my developing critter story line, I can tell you that items that neither Manfred nor Lord Vennyson will ever need include hat racks, because both are equipped by nature with impressive racks of their own.

Scanman, have you inspected that "cow" of yours? The Kinks sang about a Lola many years ago and, if you recall, that heifer turned out not to be a heifer at all!
 
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A real cow, uh, unmentionable one, has really worked her magic in changin' the trajectory o' the Fantastic Word Game storyline.

I didn't realize Lola was a mother. She's a beautiful milkin' shorthorn, but I didn't see any young 'uns roamin' 'round the security wing earlier. I figgered she was a purdy juvenile heifer, given the long hours she's lookin' at, y'know, keepin" all the ne'er-do-wells at bay. That takes some real guts n' determination to care fer young 'uns AND start a new full-time career.

A tip o' the 10-gallon to both you and yer lovely sidekick, HOSS.
 
The Fantastic Word Game storyline must not be allowed to fall into enemy hands and be dictated by scurrilous evil-doers who would try to rewrite history and distort the true history of TFWG.
 
Scurrilous evil-doers who would try to rewrite history and distort the true history of TFWG will have to someday answer for the crimes when they stand before the high tribunal.
 
The high tribunal has met over this very subject, and has concluded that the ramblin' redneck ain't tryin' to rewrite FWG's history, instead, simply tryin' as best I can to stop us from continuin' to be stuck in it.

Just look n' see how quickly we've added 132 posts since that big 50K threshold was met. Sure weren't seein' those kind of numbers comin' regularly in the past.

Scanman created his own character, named her, then included her in his very own storyline! Excuse the blatant redneckery here, but I ain't ever seen him go out n' grab the bull by the horns like that. It's refreshin' to see, I'll tell you what.

If I could just get the Padre to accept a Jersey unmentionable, turn her into an alter unmentionable, n' complete it all by givin' her a good Bible-based name like Esther (or even a bad one like Delilah) well, I'd be happier than a fat unmentionable wallerin' in the slop, I'll tell you what.

I don't see him goin' fer it, though, n' that's ok, too. It's the Padre's Fantastic world, and we, here at the RCM Ranch, are pleased as punch that's he's not askin' fer a lightnin' bolt to come on down n' evict us outta it.
 
Stuck in it with you, Stealer's Wheel and Gerry Rafferty typically consider most places the middle.

It just gives them an opportunity to vocalize their artistry, and often collect a royalty.
 
Everybody Loves Raymond is not a true statement, because not everyone does, in fact, love Raymond, but it's also true that not Everyone Hates Chris.
 
More deeply and all-encompasssingly than rcm's storylines about his vivacious heifer unfold, my tales about my somewhat apprehensive buck never will, but I'll keep trying until a certain former czar's cranial contents are splattered all over PowerWorld and beyond.
 
The original recipe, n' the various other ways you can get yer bucket o' fried chicken ordered, will be movin' its container on outta the Blue Grass State, n' into the redneck's neck o' the woods.

No word on if you'll soon be orderin' from the new "TFC", but we'll let y'all know as things develop.
 


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