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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 suggest you put your trousers back on.
Nobody will see anything - it will be cloudy.
Weather report Jersey: It is quite windy today.
Is your Jersey windproof? Mine has knitted holes.
Next Wednesday looks very hot (at the moment).
It was here, at any rate, old chum.
It was quite sweaty this Wednesday, 27 degrees.
Sweatier here, 29 degrees by all accounts.
We had 31 yesterday. I'm buying discounted sweaters.
28 here, which means I am a sweater.
Somewhat cooler today and windy too, by jingo.
Another 30 degrees today. Thunderstorms tomorrow, I hope.
3 Degrees now. Next up is The Supremes.
My baby love went completely pear-shaped, alas.
Eight words is insufficient for Morningtonesque prolixity, obviously.
People can look stupid in just in eight words.
Eight? Two!
Behold, the full moon beams down at us.
Is it now a waxing or waning sliver?
Silver should be scrubbed with Silvo, not waxed.
Wax would make the Lone Ranger slide off.
The clocks went back! The clocks went back!
What did they find when they got back?
[Rosie] They found there was no time left.
Poor clocks! Let's hear it for the Luddites.
Apparently Donald Trump's clock has two little hands.
We're out of time on that one. Next!
Critical mass of stupidity attained, implosion countdown started.
Where's the bloody Kryptonite when you need it?
Kryptonite? What I need is a crap tonight.
[Rosie] Just had eight days of the other.
I find a crossword helps. Number two down.
Italians no problem. Milan is on the Po.
I have been barred from my local. Hooray!
Is that because of your outspokenness then, Rosie?
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