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Each Move Must Consist Of Precisely Eight Words
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Just as it says on the tin. What happens in the game may be debated in the game: perhaps it'll be a conversation, perhaps a word-limited reprise of various games we play, or whatever.
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That's just word game inflation. Resist it!
It's Friday, Friday. Gotta get down on Friday.
Steady on, Phil, have you asked the wife?
Who do you take me for? Robinson Crusoe?
It's good to see the philth is undiminished.
We'll need another eight words - about Christmas - soon.
Oh how I hope my wages are in.
Merry Christmas to all in the Morniverse today.
Bah! Humbug! But mince pies are rather nice.
More cheese, vicar? Don't mind if I do!
I hope that everyone had a Merry Christmas!
I shattered the peace with carols on trombone.
Tromboneronial carols sound fun. I ate too much.
I did not drink enough in my opinion.
I never drink enough at Christmas. Blasted family!
Drinking it and topping up bottles with water?
Awkward being the only drinker in the house.
I made a very alcoholic Christmas Pud sauce.
Was it just a glass of neat brandy?
More like half a bottle and some flour.
Why waste brandy by adding flour, I ask?
Otherwise it would just fall off the fork.
There was also sugar and butter. Tremendously nutritious.
Surely a spoon is the implement for puddingisationalists?
Softers might be going in with a straw!
Custard. That is all I have to say.
Which toothpaste for mains and which for dessert?
I hate most toothpaste. Stupid horrible minty vileness.
Toothpaste is a very good trombone slide lubricant.
Does it keep the trombone in mint condition?
That is one of the better trombone jokes.
Tits pecking at my nuts in the garden.
What has that got to do with trombones?
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