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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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People were asking where you had got to.
Who were those people? I was not one.
If not asking then certainly were probably wondering.
Sssssshhhhh! He's back.
[CdM] Shush yourself! You're out of line, buddy.
[pen] So, sue me, you conformist person you.
(That was only eight words by accident.)
I think rebels always want to conform, really.
[Darren] I was one of the people that was wondering ....
(Chalks) I thought you knew everything about everybody.
[Rosie] Are our details all filed away somewhere?
(Tuj) "Filed" is not quite the correct term.
"Severely chafed" would be a more accurate term.
This is all getting rather abrasive, isn't it?
When the going's rough, the rough get going.
Roughage get you going, that is for sure.
Especially Italians, for Milan is on the Po.
[Rosie] Too devastatingly amusing to follow, I fear.
To fear amusement is to devastate Rosie's followers
We have nothing to fear but Rosie himself
[Phil] What then does Rosie have to fear?
Failure to make fearful those who fear him?
That's too oxymoronic for this time of night.
Isn't it pleonastic? Or self referential? Arrrrgh... brain....
[pen] It looks more like pyrex to me...
Now I think of "Pyrex of the Caribbean".
The earth moved for me, alone, last night.
(pen) So when will you actually be buried?
Not for a long time yet, I hope.
But did you notice the earthquake at all?
Not for me. I was away in Brussels.
I slept right through it. I was tired.
I slept through You and Yours. Tiredness irrelevant.
We've all slept for the last three days.
We are sleeping the sleep of the just.
Sleep of the just what? Just plain lazy?
Just downed ten pints more like for Rosie. ;o)
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