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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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Imagine sometimes being age bracketed with millenials. Terrifying.
Less chance if you cultivate your grey hairs.
My cat was a millennial, born about 1990.
My millennial falcon was stolen by George Lucas.
Freddie Starr ate my hamster. No, wait, ummm...
It's Summer! It was Winter a moment ago.
(Raak) That's a pretty good definition of Spring.
True English people, nostalgically talking about the weather.
Nostaligic? It's happening right now! There's no waiting!
Spring again. Looks like Summer, feels like Winter.
Shurely not with the Cup Final coming up?
Summer starts on Mid-summers day. Finishes shortly afterwards.
I hope Mourinho cocks up at Man U.
I never wish ill on anyone. Except Trump.
One no trump, doubled, redoubled, went three down.
*waves tiredly from under a pile of marking*
We have had rather a good thunderstorm today.
And another one today (sic) and tomorrow's Thor's Day.
Glad to be of service, don't you know.
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