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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 last spotted a train at a wedding.
Don't trains usually get married at marshalling yards?
No, Simons Mith, they are measured in yards.
Yards of ale sound like very big drinks.
They are barometric units like inches of mercury.
Important safety tip: Don't try quaffing the latter.
I think it would pass through you unchanged.
As long as you don't inhale the stuff.
Even Bill Clinton didn't inhale the stuff, allegedly.
Old presidents never die, they just stop inhaling.
My dog's got no nose. What comes next?
A tragic inability to differentiate odours. Poor dog.
One could also say "How does he smell?"
Pen, you need to take that dog back.
I mean, it's still under guarantee, isn't it?
I was merely alluding to a favourite joke.
(From my childhood, obvs. I'm more sophisticated now)
What's brown and sticky?    Entertainment for dogs. Fetch!
At least you took the high road, Bool.
Lo! Roads and beaten tracks are for losers.
Imagining pen careering downhill on her mountain bike.
Difficult, given the planar nature of the Netherlands.
Could it be she would go flat out?
You can't ride a bike with a flat.
You can't ride one in a flat either.
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