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Fantastic word game

Fantastic storylines (story lines as some prefer) have kept the TFWG (as I prefer) ship afloat for lo these many years but these current ones are not to my liking so I am submitting my final contribution to my beloved TFWG (TFWG as I will always lovingly prefer).

It has been terrific working with most of you, including the absent Miss Silkie, over the years. I wish all of you good health and happiness.

As Jerry Springer used to say, "Be good to yourselves and each other."

So long!
 
Unannounced until now, I guess it's time to get my ol' hound dog leashed up, take ourselves a lil' trip to Durham, North Carolina, hunt down our ol' friend n' fellow contributor Stuart, n' let him know his rightful place here is still being held for him.

I figger y'all expect me to have a partin' shot lined up fer the exitin' party, n' I most certainly do. Lemme take off the 10-gallon fer a moment.

*clears throat*

Thank you, WMC, for your 18 years of participation in and dedication to the Fantastic Word Game. I wish you would've been a little more welcoming to the ideas and storylines that didn't come directly from your own head. It's a shame, really. The Fantastic Entryway is always open for you, but the cozy, plush, corner office will now have a plaque erected on the recently cinder blocked doorway that once served as an entry, in full dedication to those who were lost by the wayside in this nearly two decade run of FWG.

Hat back on.

Well, now. Where's that Die-rector of Linguistics? I think it's high time fer a couple o' gummies n' a tallboy or two.
 
Corner o' the sanctuary, in the very back pew, sits the ol' hayseed (w/o the 10-gallon on, of course) wonderin' if'n our distinguished spiritual leader has also gone n' flown the coop?

Hadn't seen him stand at his pulpit since last week.

Sure hopin' you ain't abandonin' the Fantastic flock, Padre. It's my respect fer you that keeps things from completely goin' off into the damp, unlit, n' rather musty basement o' The RCM Ranch's main house.

HOSS, it ain't the first time. Better go ahead n' keep Danny at the ready.
 
Communities like this require audience participation.

Sure 'nuff looks like we've done gone n' stumbled upon some sorta silent protest, Chief. Usually something like this is accompanied by chants of "Hell no, we won't go!"

Interestin', I'll tell you what.
 
Audience participation in this game, which I'd expected to surge after the liberation of the critters, instead has done the opposite.

A fine mess we seem to have gotten ourselves into, rose. Maybe a sweet squirt from your Connie will bring WMC back to his senses. It always works wonders for my intern.
 
In high dudgeon of my relentlessness against the long-established "my way or the highway" policy of playing the game, no doubt.

Whoops! 10-gallon flew off from the high winds that have befallen the Lone Star this afternoon. Sorry 'bout that.

I don't know what to tell 'em, gents. I came in here with shootin' irons blazin', n' against WMC's self-appointed rule from the get go. I sure ain't misled anyone with my thoughts on the matter.

It's kinda sad that no one actually stood up fer him n' said, hey no, loudmouth Texan a-hole, he's our Game Czar. We love him. We love revisiting the same contribution material every week, weeks on end. Quite the opposite, actually. Only thing that I ever saw were personal messages of encouragement from various individuals, who appeared to be getting a kick out of me playing the part of his antagonistic villain, or from those leaving the game because they didn't appreciate what they perceived as a condescending manner in which he spoke to them. This would be a novel if I listed out everything I have seen (off the top of my 10-gallon, of course) said by him to those who didn't tow the line on his game "rules" over the years.

I don't like the fact he walked away, let's be honest. The antagonistic back and forth between the two of us became an element to the game that was rather comical, and I don't know, just gave the game a little extra character. At least, I guess, to some of us.

Anyway, I certainly won't let the game just die, even if I have to go n' play with myself.

You see? That right there is why the Padre is needed. I'm sure hope y'all don't mind stickin' 'round. Guess it's sure 'nuff alright to talk about whitetail, embraceable ewes, dairy cows, frozen hamburger meat n' whatever else, now.
 
No doubt at all had I, in the blissful innocence of my eternal adolescence, that WMC was enjoying the banter referenced above by the eternal redneck, but it seems I misread the former Game Czar and now he's gone, so all that remains for me to do is do a totally unexpected heel turn and denounce rosecitymedia and everything he stands for.

And I'm padlocking away my critters, too. You can find me at the new Illusions later this week, enjoying the '80s rock and bucking the snot out of that lovely mechanical bull.
 
The game may just become "The CT n' Rose Show" fer the foreseeable future.

Even Mister Ed n' The High Chief have gone amiss, compadre. I'll be here with the executive hallway light flickerin' above me. Someone's gotta stick around to feed the new security animals n' continue to pay fer the utilities.
 
The foreseeable future for Constance, Lola, Henrietta, Dominic, Dudley, Manfred, Lord Vennyson and that Embraceable Ewe whose name escapes me may be as meals for the redneck and me here at the nearly abandoned PowerWorld headquarters once we get done paying those enormous debts prior management racked up.

Charlize the Listener Lodge chickadee will escape the slaughter by flying through an open window.
 
Up in Albany, a restaurateur announced a $1 million lawsuit against the Lone Star for its proposal to rename the New York Strip to the "Texas Strip."

Such chutzpah!

Nope, I haven't abandoned the game, Brother Rose. (Life just got in the way of my posting yesterday.)
 
To rename the New York Strip to the "Texas Strip" is just udder silliness given ev'ryone already knows from where the finest beef comes.

We certainly supply a wide selection o' beef down here. As a born n' reared Texican, I'm alright with New York claimin' the short loin.

Sure glad to see you, High Chief. I was fixin' to have one o' the hands build a fire n' start sendin' signals.

Fer the record, I believe the embraceable ewe is named Ginger.
 
Brooklyn Brawler, real name Steve Lombardi, once smacked the legendary Gorilla Monsoon over the head with a stool, leadin' the massive Manchurian to bring a 2x4 to the next TV tapin', n' scarin' the dickens out of "The Brain".

Two 'rasslin references on the same page? Lordy mercy, I've done died n' gone to Heaven.
 
The brain is still a lil' foggy from drinkin' more than my fair share of tallboys last night, but still conscious e'nuff to add this contribution to the mix n' get us moving along.

If there ain't no sunshine where you are today, we here at The RCM Ranch cordially invite you to create some o' yer own.

Happy Friday to you n' to yer assortment o' mythical creatures, gentlemen.
 


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