[Rendorf] Ha bloody Ha - and how cowardly to hide behind a pretentious nickname, Darren. At least, have the balls to show yourself. On second thoughts, keep your balls to yourself, they probably haven't even dropped yet.
[Dujon] Piss-weak strategy, old boy. Back into the shed for you, sweetie.
For now I'll straddle Chancery Lane with a two-fingered salute to [stdogmael] who is no doubt acquainting himself with Madame Palm and her five lovely daughters ...

why in the name of fuck should i show any humility whatsoever before such a shining array of idiocy is beyond me. Nice to see you still straddling everything in sight, Chalky, at your age. Bank again, because it just rhymes so well.

[stD] A lot of things are beyond you, dearie. Don't worry about it. Striking close to home with Baron's Court. Did you feel that? Heheheh!

[Inkspot] Girls blouse I may be, but at least I know the difference between to and too! And how to construct a decent defence against aggressive players. Shepherd's Bush(H&C) putting Inkspot in knid.

What kind of feeble-minded waster would fritter their time away on this rubbish? I would despair if it were worth my while.

Well, Gusset, if you like knid so much, I'll just slip off to Shepherd's Bush (Central) in what I've heard is called a self-replicating double helix, which restricts lower life forms (such as your own) for three turns.

Euston square. Don't ask why or I will have to kill you.

[Will] Who are you calling lower, shortarse?

Feck! Temple. Arse!

*sigh* [Breadmaster] You just did fritter away your precious (by all accounts) time by coming in here and posting a comment without including a game move. Mind your back. The Time & Motion people will be onto you before you can say Bayswater.

I adopt a nom de plume here, lest the brilliance I shall exhibit in this game, where I need not hide my genius under a bushel, overawe players in those games where I participate under my more usual name. Well now, much frantic to-ing and fro-ing on the board, but to what purpose, one must ask oneself? Flabby knips and unnecessary home stations apparently selected by sticking a pin in the map. One might as well analyse a child's finger-painting. "Father Jack" has inadvertently caused a faint glimmer of light to appear in this cloud of unknowing, but by not hoping for this to bear fruit, however stunted, I shall not be disappointed. St. James's Park; those who understand, will understand.

At frigging last..a game to arouse the Paddy in me. Youse fecking eejits wouldn't know a good move from your own fecking hole. Now, fer jasus sake, it takes an auld bollix like meself to point the way and play a London Bridge and confuse the fecking likes of yez.

...Dazed5] and we're still waiting. And Rensdorf: shove yer head up yer arse. Please.
Wimbledon, laying a backmark podume. Ha!

You know, I'd actually like Chalky if her eyes looked like limpid pools instead of stagnant ponds! Bloody upstart, the shed was probably where she was conceived - not the woodshed, the wool shed! Doncha just love shearers? Inkspot on the other hand plays silly whatsits with whatever is around. If you recall, blotting paper was used to sort out the structure of microbes; sound familiar? Anyhow, I'm not moving - Kings Cross is doing me proud at the moment, unlike some of you meek and mild wooses. Must be off now, someone has just offered me a nine inch pizza supreme ... whoooeeee!

On an offensive
pen: your ears look like a herring.
Dujon: your name sounds far too much like a mustard.
Gusset login: You should really stop playing in your underwear.
Chalky: Yellow makes you look ill. Please cease from wearing it, especially a jumpsuit.
rab: you smell of fish and wee.
JLE: your MC moves are akin to a pre-school child's.
Right that's enough offence. My move is Heathrow, teminal 4.

[Lib] It's quite difficult to be horrid to you but I'll try my best ... SNOT! Heathrow Terminals 1,2,3 should make your last move look really feeble.

Quite simply, it would pleasure me more to have my testicles nibbled by a baboon called Auberon than to lower myself to the depths being shown by those cockarses who think it's sufficient to steno-diarrhoea into the box marked Stance (presuming, of course, the sub-pond biology that frequents this part even knows what the latter means) and click Submit with nary a thought as to whether its lexospew is worth daubing over the fabric of the interwebnet. Quite simply, I wonder why you sub-human cretin don't just switch off your terminals and have a genuine Bank instead of making do with this pixellated ersatz.

Off with the pixies again rab? Regardless, it's obvious from your comments that you can't touch type. On that note I'm off to Canada Quay.

[Dujon] You're 'aving an Upton Park you've really lost the farkin' plot mate, senior moment I expect, you sure it ain't Canada Goose?

Now, settle down, plump, just because the false teeth I borrowed from you don't work all that well is no excuse to clatter me! So, with a small side-step to Fulham Broadway, I call your bluff. Upton Park, really!

Some of us only need false teeth to play castanets. Latimer Road, meaning rab can't use anything longer than a six letter word next go. Think you're so smart, eh?

As I expected, skip a day and the pre-sentient life-forms continue their aimless milling around, as oblivious to the real nature of what is happening as slime-moulds in the swarming phase. Dujon displays as much coherent structure as a spider on caffeine, while plump is surely rab's sought-for baboon, long may they enjoy nibbling each other's testicles. St. Paul's, a precise counterpoise to the situation at Waterloo.

Wrens duff church aspires to pitiful as a move and invokes Morden not so much counterpoise as counter punch. It's the end of the line for you in more ways than one.

Rensdorf and plump, whilst attempting a co-ordinated whispering move (Marlon Brando v that Horse bloke, circa 1995) have missed the point. Bloddy novices, don't you just luv 'em? So, straddle to Euston (dropping a ceramic as I do so) puts the whole city circle into instablility yet allowing myself an out. Work it out, suckers - especially you, Tuj, since I've got your castanet (it's/they are plural, like sheep!) Cast a net? So simple with you simpletons.

Dujon] the point of this game is to be bad-tempered and tetchy, NOT to just be a pretentious CU*T.
1.Wake up.
2. Smell the BO.
3. Shower.
4. Use soap.

Liverpool Street.

Aaaargh - you can all f*ck off, the lot of you. I've got a date tomorrow night and I don't know what to wear. Rickmansworth emergency curry stop.

Clapham Junction and you can all go shit yourselves.

As I was explaining just the other day to the Archbishop of Canterbury, players committing such absurdities as Dujon has thus far manifested should be soundly laughed at until they learn their place, which is somewhere south of the bottom rungs of a kindergarten MC ladder. Canada Water, which sweeps away his pitiful excuse for a token stack. Ha! Ha! As the Icelandic proverb has it, a novice stinks in three moves. [penelope] Full leathers and a pink tutu.

Rensdorf] Though you are an excellent fashio guru (spot the sarcasm), I agree with Dujon: it is obvious that you are an arrogant wanker.
Canning Town, straddling.

[Tuj} May you grow man breasts and forever have to cover yourself in the communal shower. Holland Park ... and where's that nauseating little turd, st dogmael, scurried off to?

Rained Off, or whatever your fucking name is, name dropping the A of C carries no kudos here. The only thing I can say, in these circumstances is Chigwell and that should put that tart Chalky into a right little strop.

[Chalky] I suspect that st d's ducking for cover, the little a**ehole! No doubt he's one of those who wears two pairs of socks - one on his feet and the other to fill out his denims. I'm off to Paddington to see if I can find him. [Tuj] Your plate is on the way back - think yourself fortunate that I've knocked out the teeth before you get it back.

[Tuj] Arrogant? The concept you are groping for in that lump of porridge you affect to call a brain is selbstbewusst. It is inexpressible in this decadent English language, but you may consider it to mean "having an accurate measure of one's own worth". But it is well that the players here do not have this concept, lest your minds implode with the realisation of the amount of air, food, and space you have taken up with your unnecessary lives. Arrogance is a vice only in those with nothing to be arrogant about. Shadwell! You see? You see?

the "Archbishop of Canterbury" must and can only be the poor man's pet name for his own cock. God knows no-one else will talk to him. Touching to see that he tries to engage it in a proper relationship. Just in case you actually wanted to know where I was Chalky I was getting on with "A LIFE". Though I would look back in here to reassure myself that it can always get worse, like Duj's Mum (which is the only thing you are going to find round there mr D - try looking in a phonebox - it currently says "NEW IN TOWN GENUINE PHOTO") Archway

st d]So you have finally crept out from under your stone congratulations on getting out of lice infested pit and enlightening us with your presence we are all just soooo grateful you made that last move but be honest it was crap Archway a safe move for dullards with no clue or foresight or understanding very much like Gusset Login and his attempt at knip, what a pitiful and pathetic, feeble minded effort. Let me bring things down to your level just for Chalky, West Ham and to be generous, here's a hint it's a magenta station.

"Archway a safe move for dullards with no clue or foresight or understanding" : precisely.

Is that it? did we interupt your afternoon nap? back to bed with you and change your conti-pads while your at it you're leaking sh*t again.

for fuck's sake Inkspot, if you are just going to treat this game as a place to to come and practice being patronising (and God knows you need the practise) at least strive to get your "your/you're"s correct. Jesus H Christ on a cocking bicycle. Weeping. Archway again.

Was that all your own work that last move st d.? well done! that was very good for you, (and like rewarding a two year old when potty training, extra praise even when it's a pile of shite) you are good little boy aren't you? yes you are, and as a reward have one of my shiney blue tokens. And while I go to the bog and give birth to your twin... Covent Garden yet another magenta station.

Inkers] Lay off the toilet humour, you're not a child are you? Well, maybe in some respects, but I'm not going that low. Oh, and find some punctuation will you? I'm sure Rensdorf'll lend you some, he can throw them down from his high horse. Oh, and "st" dogmael? Angel. Snard at you!