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Fantastic word game

Non-homogeneous milk produced by your local dairy farm is available for a short time only so call now at 1-88r-ose-city.
 
Call now at 1-88r-ose-city (which translates to 1-887-673-2489) and you will most likely get you an error message, because according to my well-informed sources at allareacodes.com, it's not a real number.
 
Answering y'all's inquisitive fingers that, apparently, fell off the phone book while doin' all o' that walkin', n' remindin' one n' all that the die-rect hotline to the RCM Ranch is, was, n' always will be, 1-800-HAY-SEED.

Rosie's Dance Hall N' Saloon has no toll-free, however. 903-UR-DRUNK to place yer reservations at the bar. Unfortunately, with fundin' a lil' tight, the hayloft has no phone line, so I just make do with an ol' walkie talkie n' a bullhorn.
 
What the hayseed on the other end is really saying is "Milk, it does a body good!"

Especially the factory die-rect variety.

I really oughta trademark that, er sumthin'.

Good job there, Man o' Mayflowers. I lit'rally choked on my mug o' coffee while readin' that.
 
Powerful lobbyists in Washington are now headin' t'wards the sanctuary, at the behest o' this here ol' half-breed redneck, to silence that there (thar, as my Arkansan readers pre-fer) unsavory n' unethical speech o' the Padre's by levying a tariff on his pulpit.

Jumpin' Gee Willikers, Padre. Who went n' dumped hot coffee on yer sermon notes this mornin'?
 
Nothing tastes better than farm-fresh milk in the bowl with your morning cereal unless you're talking about farm-fresh cream, in my opinion, but that's neither hyar nor thar, as my old Land of Opportunity (or Natural State, as some prefer) friends would say.
 
Funny to my well-respected compadres in Vermont, n' amusin' (on o-cashun) to the Heavenly, Jersey-based ministry n' the Chicago-based security office, yet in certain parts o' Massachusetts, this ol' hayseed can be quite the irritant.

I learned many moons ago that you just can't please ev'ryone. Kinda like Mister Ed. I get the sneakin' sus-pishun that my redneck cranium is on his wishlist fer immediate freezer storage.
 
Turn red, like this here ol' hayseed's neck is, n' I'll carry you on down to the local Cavender's to buy you the hat you'll need to make that particular (par-ticular, as you'll soon pre-fer) fashion statement.
 
That particular (par-ticular, as you'll soon pre-fer) fashion statement, depending on where you are, could get you arrested by the fashion police.

Mr. Ed is not too particular about what (or who, for that matter) goes into the freezer. The more variety, the better, I say. It's not called the Freezer of Doom (FoD as most prefer) for nothing. And that reminds me... I really should take inventory.
 
The fashion police don't visit the campus of PowerWorld University (PU as some prefer) which is pretty obvious when you see what the kids are wearing these days.

dmargalotti, you could have spooned with your co-worker if a fork hadn't been available. Get it? Fork? Spoon? Spooning? See what I did there??
 
These days make my redneck heart yearn for the 20th century.

Pardon me, but ain't the fashion po-lice a singular co-lection o' individual "officers"?

🤔

I sure 'nuff see what you did there. Reckon that oughta be a "doesn't" n' not a "don't" right there, in a perfect linguistical world.
 
The 20th century brought to us many exciting things such as internet word games, instant messaging, and mechanical bulls.
 


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