Chalky] No that's fine. That is a perfectly good move. FOR AN AMOEBA.

st d] You can tell the good jokes by the ones where you have to capitalise(watch penelope, watch!) to show where THE PUNCHLINE is. And boOb tHe DoG? I can call you whatever I like. How does LOSER sound? HA HA. Lambeth North. Reckon Rensdorf's demonstrated defenestration?

[Tudge] I use the small 'p' so as not to intimidate weeners like you. Think Penelope Keith, but more so. South Kensington, of course.

Chorleywood, not that any of you rabble could afford to live there.

¡Usted es todo tan estúpido, me hace lloro con la frustración! Tooting Beck

... and who let you in? Bog off and invade something overseas.
Waterloo

Mfoi]That last effort was demeaning to the whole game, I can tell that you are the type of person, that goes fishing and takes graet satisfaction in catching tiddlers; how cute. While I avoid the easy option, you on the other hand, are just so proud of your feeble efforts, playing Tooting Beck (so asinine), at this juncture, it is the same as returning back to your squalid tent and girlfriend - going into extremes of improbability - as the rain beats down on your worthless and wretched figure clutching your woebegone prize tiddler; pleased as punch and excited as a Firday night p**shead sniffing at the barmaids apron, there is the inevitable slip, and the disaster waiting to happen. What a squalid sordid sight, you, groping your tiddler through her wet flaps. Go back to the start, don't expect these other impoverished players to be any help, a cursory glance by a novice would be appalled by this contemptible rabble. With no restrictions Baker Street is a move of discernment and perception beyond the frog spawn that you miserably call a brain.

Oh SHUT UP you boring little tit
Russell Square YOU'RE ALL IN KNID....Mwaahaahaa!

[Tuj] I assure you that there is no danger of my falling from the window from which I survey this pigsty of jabbering cretins. Truly did Napoleon observe that while rascality has limits, stupidity does not.

Chalky] When I was seven I'd have though so too. Upminster.

[Btd] When I was seven, I could spell 'thought'. Gospel Oak

Farting Stoats ! What a load of pathetic wimps we have playing this game ! Good job the mighty Ruttsborough isn't here (or anywhere for that matter) he'd have you knipped so far up the Jubilee your podumes would squeak. I'll launch my campaign with Vauxhall placing a steaming-dog-turd podume on the central line between Chancery Lane & St.Paul's. Smelly but effective, I think you'll admit.

Rensdorf, crawl back into the rancid cesspit of bloated rhetoric you call home; Blob, poke your farting stoats up your hole using a long splintery stick; penelope and Chalky, please girls, concentrate your efforts on cooking dinner and looking pretty and leave this, like the parking of cars, to the men. Christ on a fucking hanglider. I have had more pleasure in a VD clinic. I have had an easier time pulling my bottom lip over my head and stapling it to the back of my neck. You lot are about as clever as arse parasites. Now for the LAST TIME BECAUSE I WILL NOT SAY THIS AGAIN. Moorgate.

Dazed: Indeed, your name is apt; you must be dazed. We've had three plays of "Waterloo" which invalidates all other double vowel moves. (Be lucky there hasn't been a fourth, which would force Dollis Hill.) Your insults only reveal the smallness of the box you use for storing you brain (that is, when it's not used to put a hat on). So I discard your move. Blob: Vauxhall? VAUXHALL?? You're risking Vauxhall? Perhaps you don't understand.... Kings Cross St. Pancras

And you 'Will' [what sort of poncey name is that?] can mind yer own sodding business. TEMPLE!

It's a bit rich for someone called "Chalky" to start criticising others' names. I hope whoever taught you to punctuate is still alive, as it will save them spinning in their grave. Since you only seem to understand moves with one word in them, I'll keep this simple for you: Monument.

Ooooh! Darrendiddum's got a new chum to stick up for! Careful - little boys never know when to stop ... Angel

[Penelope (rhymes with envelope)] I shall think of you as Keith Chegwin, but more so. Rensdorf] Your words make my eyes sad. Barbican, upholding the rules... Oh, and Chalky, as you simulpost me... grow up.

Well you bunch of stuck up twats. I bet you all huddle in a corner during the Fart n Ferrets pub quiz, and always get 99% of the questions right. Euston and using the Smeg rule to gain an extra dog turd podume to place on the head of the next player!

Epping That's in Essex, where I assume you're all from.

Zombies at the keyboard again, wake up morons and get a Life! In the history of MC can there have ever have been such a cascade of dismal moves, they continue to mount up silting up the MC⁵ server, like the fatty deposits in a blocked London sewer. This game is rapidly descending into two diabolically dishevelled camps competing for the most grievous move. There are the Killers, intent on wanton destruction of the beautiful game; heathens that make moves that serve no purpose but their own mindlessly nefarious ends. These are the murderous Cain slowly but surely torturing the soul out of Abel and MC with heartles sadistic intent.
The second nauseous group; the bleeding hearts, the whingers, the dire incompetants who’s intolerable and incessant griping gets in the way of any attempt at a decent move. It makes me want to grab hold of your lapels and shout slowly for you to understand “For the love of Ada! Shut the f**k up!!”
Concentrate for more than three seconds, play the game, so pause, give your brain cell some space …Cain: Ada, wait here , forcing Canada Water.