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Fantastic word game

A cowgirl once told me, "rose", 'cuz that's what she called me, she says, "rose, it'll take $50 to make me holler, 'cuz I get paid to do the wild thing".

Yo, love. You must be trippin'.
 
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"The wild thing" may or may not be a part of the playlist tomorrow night at the new Illusions so why don't you stop in for a spell so you can find that out.

That's right, it's the weekend and it's time again to jingle your bells and deck your halls with a Christmas/Hanukkah/Holiday themed 80s Rockfest. Come on down to the new Illusions tomorrow night or join us via the huge PowerWorld livestream. Anyone dressed in some holiday-themed garb will get a free ride on the Denny's-sponsored, permanently-guarded mechanical bull. Early Sunday morning, join us at Denny's where kenny cooks up a great spread. Have a great weekend!!
 
Find that out here in the pastures o' East Texas, this early mornin', n' it's liable to be sat-urated with a heavy layer of dew.

Jiminy Cricket, I drank myself dern-near blind yesterday. How was the party at Illusions?

Oh, wait. It's Saturday. That ain't 'til tonight.

The hell with this here, y'all. I'm headin' back to the sack. This has been yer EMC for Saturday, the 20th o' December, in the year o' the Chinese wood snake, 47-22. RCM, interim Die-rector o' Early Mornin' Contributions n' general miscreant, signin' off.
 
A heavy layer of dew over Texas and the other states of the former Confederacy was, until 2001, referenced in "Covers Dixie Like the Dew," the front-page slogan of one of Atlanta's two newspapers, the Constitution.
 
The Constitution of the Fantastic Word Game (TFWG as I will always lovingly prefer) mandates that every regular contributor participate in the game a minimum of 5 days per week.

You didn't know that, did you.
 
5 days per week is a typical schedule fer a retail afi...afish...ex-pert like our feller player, WMC, but a 7 day work week is ree-quired when you have a job you actually go to, n' a job that's waiting on you when you get home.

18 hours on n' 6 off. Down to 12, if I ain't gotta roll up to Min-e-get-down-ola fer community service.

That's how this cowboy rides.
 
Western Express dee-livery, die-rect from Hartland to Wissss-taaah, oughta be on the way, n" po-sessin' a shot bird as the contents, fer ever darin' to call the dis-tinguished Linguistics Czar "the other one".

I'm a'pauled, I'll tell you what...n' how!
 
"The other one" was not referring to CT but, rather, the other intern whose name I have forgotten.

Three too many cranial explosions will do that to you.
 
I have forgotten yet again that WMC is in cognitive decline and must be humored, like a doddering great-grandfather, when he concocts his far-fetched stories.

Sure, ex-Czar, sure. There's another intern. Right, now take your meds. But first, tell me: Could your "other one" possibly refer not to my other intern (who doesn't exist) but to rosecity's other cow?
 
Stories o' RCM sittin' on CT's lap are overblown, n' the ree-sultin' con-coc-shun o' a bunch o' cacklin' hens, 'cuz I simply wasn't 'spectin' him to be in the Padre's executive EMC chair this mornin' when I went to take a seat.

'scuse my hind end there, compadre, n' much o-bliged fer handlin' the wee-hour duty this here Sunday mornin'.
 
When I went to take a seat at Denny's earlier this morning, the joint smelled terrific as kenny (along with a couple of the lovely young library interns) had whipped up a whole smorgasbord of great stuff to eat.

CT, I could swear you had an intern and rosecity had one as well. That's what I was referring to by 'the other one'. Perhaps there's just one overall. I've blocked out those shenanigans.
 
A whole smorgasbord of great stuff to eat is fine fer some, but I find it a lil' off-puttin' n' unappetizin' to watch a herd of 2-legged animals gorge themselves.

Kayla, who is CT's Petite Blonde Intern (PBI, as most have come to know), came fer a visit down here awhile back. She went back home to the boudoir in Hartland, Vermont a few weeks thereafter. Totin' back a pink Stetson hat, n' a lifetime o' outdoorsy ex-perience at her dee-parture, she still sends letters to check on me n' the crew, n' ree-quests fer me to send her n' the Linguistics Czar 'nother case o' non-homogeneous dairy products, die-rect from the teat, every month er two.

However, she's firmly co-mitted to her lavish, linguistical life in Vermont. Even invitin' her to send fer the Linguistics Czar to come stay in the Ranch's bunkhouse was met with a strong ree-sistance. What kin I say? The Texas heat jist ain't fer ev'ryone.

I, however, now have, nor never have had, an "intern". Only thing this here hayseed po-sesses is an unhealthy Sinister n' Evil ob-session with blowin' up yer cranium, n' the memory o" what you tried to pull with my now-dead milkin' cow.
 
2-legged animals gorge themselves in the fall so that they can bulk up fer the winter n' stay warm.

Novody fa-miliar with critter's eatin' habits, I see. Good thing y'all have a hayseed 'round to move things along.
 
Lifting weights and working out would probably help me make the 8-second whistle on the new Illusions' mechanical bull, but I'd rather use my new-found strength to rip that bucking tin can (as rosecitymedia prefers) off its base and pound it to smithereens with as heavy a sledgehammer as I can find.
 
Find that the mechanical bull is permanently guarded by some of HOSS scanman's best of the best as well as some burly guys from around town who are compensated by me.
 


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