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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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I'm a year older than a week ago.
A year in a week! That's time-lapse, pen. Appy burfdy.
Little pleasure in eight words: beer and crisps.
I mean 'small pleasure'. That meant the opposite.
Beer and crisps, beer and crisps. Beer. Crisps.
I think I'm really ready for a holiday.
Playing cricket on a Tuesday afternoon, in sunshine.
[Phil] Do you still have a job? Nights?
[pen] Yes I do. It's rather flexible though.
Are we running out of eight words? Sad.
Novel octets are
Extraordinarily
Hard to keep going.
I disagree, sir; I find them quite easy.
Blimey! Is this still going. I am amazed.
I've finished making my telescope, the Mk II.
Can you see the pub from there, Rosie?
I'm afraid light travels in boringly straight lines.
Put a black hole near the pub then.
I want to get home again, you know.
Shit or get off the pot. Any more?
Or shall we call it a day now?
That's most unladylike - did you mean the po?
Feminism.
Is that a typo (or 'typot') Rosie?
Kids sit on the pot, adults the po.
There's a fabulous shaggy-dog story about a pisspot.
Unfortunately there are only eight words available, pen.
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