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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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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.
It starts with a down-at-heel adder, I remember.
Who starts to do much better in life
It sounds like the cue for a limerick
Hang on, you don't know how it ends.
And one of the adder's longstanding friends boasts
that he's known him for a long time.
More details in the next exciting instalment, folks!
Loth as I am to interrupt the flow . . . . .
Go on... and I really hope it's important
Of course it isn't - please carry on, pen.
He knew him from his days of penury
This is an extremely shaggy dog. Enough yet?
Shaggy enough to make a big woolly jumper?
It's not an adder, it's a boa subtractor.
Did that spring to mind at night, Rosie?
For me it was late evening, I confess.
Anyhow, the done-good snake's reminiscing friend evenutally says:
Fun fact- I'm writing this from my PlayStation.
Go on, pen. I'm agog, despite the hour.
"Oh yes, I've known him for so long...."
"I knew him when (this may surprise you)..."
:He didn't have a pit to hiss in."
Tonite (sic) I am going to a jazz gig.
I've written eight words for your reading pleasure!
[Rosie] Well then, eight word gig review, please!
There's a wasp in my office. In November!
Saw two butterflies in my garden only yesterday.
Another unquestionable sign of the impending end times?
(Tuj, belatedly) The New Delta Band played their arses off.
The first eight words of the New Year.
At this slow rate, we'll have summer soon.
Fair old stretch on the evenings this week.
It will soon be my birthday, so there.
They say it'll snow but I've had none.
Me neither but it is brass monkeys outside.
The brass monkeys are queuing to get in!
Signs of spring. You can list them here.
Magpie carrying twigs this morning, from kitchen window
Why do you keep twigs on your window?
For making twiglets. Doesn't everyone have twigs handy?
I used to, but they were pretzel twigs.
I didn't try Marmite until I was 19.
Ma might have been looking after your health.
I hope Mamma laid on alternative spreads instead.
Jam jam jam jam jam jam jam jam!
Low fat cream cheese, the sweet chilli flavour.
On bread, I mostly like marmalade and honey.
You and I are as one on that.
Jam jam jam jam jam jam jam jam...
I gather you have just left the M25.
Jam, jam, jam, jam, jam! I've grown accustomed....
Amazing things can emerge from extensive jam sessions.
This game seems to have been largely forgotten.
But eight words can bring it to life.
If only we could work out which eight.
I wonder if it is one of these?
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