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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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As regards sunsets, coppery is better than irony.
Isn't irony what British humour is mostly about?
(Knobbly) I assume that is third-order irony.
Most British humour is lavatorial, isn't it? *snigger*
That is why it's gone down the pan.
Right down the pan, just ask Mervyn King.
I wish I had gone to bed earlier.
pen, where you tired or for another reason?
Regularly in bed too late, always up early :o(
It's been the driest spring since records began.
Hidden textMy records, that is, so 1983.
In Surrey, maybe. In Jersey only number two.
Sounds nice; I have always fancied desiccated rock.
Rain at last. Wish it would go away.
Same here. Least the drought warning's been lifted.
Why can I not stop thinking of doughnuts?
<mode="Homer">Mmmmmmm... Doughnuts</mode>
For completeness, please say 'doughnuts' three more times.
Doughnuts doughnuts doughnuts. Happy now?
[CdM], That is not eight words all at once.
I guess New Jersey takes after Old Jersey.
CdM doesn't need to count; he's an economist.
In this game, CdM's entries just don't count.
New Jersey is much bigger than Old Jersey.
Old jersey has probably shrunk in the wash.
Not just Old Jerseys. My new-ish one shrank.
I imagine that would enhance your delightful contours.
[K] "Eight words all at once." Now are you happy?
I don't know about you, but I am.
I'm happy enough, for now. No particular reason.
I'm not very happy; but that's my problem.
I'm not very happy; but that's my problem.
Sort it our guys. Whose problem is it?
I don't think it's my problem - no explosions.
Pull yourselves together, you miserable bunch of wimps.
That's almost the end of a knock-knock joke.
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