The "General Games Chat" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
Argh, the marmots! They scold me so! My eyes!
Cut out mine liver and throw it to the hounds; for I am slain.
On this opening statement I base my thesis. My primary hypothesis is as follows:
Only on Tuesdays can the pre-packaged traffic cones fully evaporate jellyfish into the wondrous spectacle that is the many-legged gopher. This particular gopher (dressed in suit with silver shoes and a toupee) has, within his mirrored suitcase, half a Toffee Crisp. This underrated instrument of torture can easily ambigufy twelve score roller blinds. And blue ones at that.
This matter has puzzled inflatable scholars and mispronounced theologians alike for many a carpet shampoo. I aim to settle the matter: was the baboon pushed? did his wife steal the brass hinges? or did rainbow ants from Bournemouth blow bubbles in his his papaya juice?
As nylon sheeting manufactures may say “Let’s look at the evidence.”
Shall we?
Firstly, a twelfth of the sandwich fillings mounted ravens onto pink wallpaper; a further three dozen of them actually enjoyed it. Although my toaster isn’t carbonated from desk drawers, nor is a pack of cartridge paper. Furthermore, a red moon only means frosted glass can’t shiver under the weight of a sweating mongoose.
Add to this this obvious fact that 2 courses and a pudding only cost a turnip, two crowns and a overgrown stoat; the world is most definitely not made of dehydrated dictionaries; carrot intestines are 95% available from rusty sewing machine plants and my house was built from peacock feathers and roasted orange peppers and you’ve got yourself one big stew-pot of haemoglobin.
None of which is very relevant, although Christopher Robin was assassinated by the lone wheel, he died with four maracas in his ears and thus was permitted free entry to Alton Towers between harvest supper and the day of the chipmunk on a partially-digested surfboard.
And the slender loris took my Farscape away.
This simple fact alone points us in the direction of microchips.
Ka-pling!
Fredrick!
A bleached pine room-divider from Argos!
No one even noticed.
In conclusion, the sun sets twice a feast although only a quarter of that is possible when jammy dodgers don’t not say no to combusting chimps. And I like the fruit.
Mmmmm ..... slippers.
Thankee children,
From the 3rd Chicken King of Yore, protector of cabbage, aide to the lighting fixtures of doom.
Cut out mine liver and throw it to the hounds; for I am slain.
On this opening statement I base my thesis. My primary hypothesis is as follows:
Only on Tuesdays can the pre-packaged traffic cones fully evaporate jellyfish into the wondrous spectacle that is the many-legged gopher. This particular gopher (dressed in suit with silver shoes and a toupee) has, within his mirrored suitcase, half a Toffee Crisp. This underrated instrument of torture can easily ambigufy twelve score roller blinds. And blue ones at that.
This matter has puzzled inflatable scholars and mispronounced theologians alike for many a carpet shampoo. I aim to settle the matter: was the baboon pushed? did his wife steal the brass hinges? or did rainbow ants from Bournemouth blow bubbles in his his papaya juice?
As nylon sheeting manufactures may say “Let’s look at the evidence.”
Shall we?
Firstly, a twelfth of the sandwich fillings mounted ravens onto pink wallpaper; a further three dozen of them actually enjoyed it. Although my toaster isn’t carbonated from desk drawers, nor is a pack of cartridge paper. Furthermore, a red moon only means frosted glass can’t shiver under the weight of a sweating mongoose.
Add to this this obvious fact that 2 courses and a pudding only cost a turnip, two crowns and a overgrown stoat; the world is most definitely not made of dehydrated dictionaries; carrot intestines are 95% available from rusty sewing machine plants and my house was built from peacock feathers and roasted orange peppers and you’ve got yourself one big stew-pot of haemoglobin.
None of which is very relevant, although Christopher Robin was assassinated by the lone wheel, he died with four maracas in his ears and thus was permitted free entry to Alton Towers between harvest supper and the day of the chipmunk on a partially-digested surfboard.
And the slender loris took my Farscape away.
This simple fact alone points us in the direction of microchips.
Ka-pling!
Fredrick!
A bleached pine room-divider from Argos!
No one even noticed.
In conclusion, the sun sets twice a feast although only a quarter of that is possible when jammy dodgers don’t not say no to combusting chimps. And I like the fruit.
Mmmmm ..... slippers.
Thankee children,
From the 3rd Chicken King of Yore, protector of cabbage, aide to the lighting fixtures of doom.
Page:
The lack of GAD attempts is many.
*has been shot*
*Still dancing*
gerrid wrote:
> You wish you started this
> (maybe not)
> I sure do.
*Dances*
> You wish you started this
> (maybe not)
> I sure do.
*Dances*
Yesterday I learned that tomorrow would be the first day after today when the sun would rise yet fall quite slowly considering it's movement to be restricted being a giant star and all. The gnome war continues on the battle fronts of the garden, despite heavy resistance from the fairy clan of yesteryear. They used their 1234.972HP attacks to no avail thanks to the super-defenced provided by the clever dance of the slender loris.
Magazines scattered over the floor, helping me learn the learnitude of w00tness, educating in a way unimaginable by the standards of the standardisation surrounding the current state of events, where averageness underlines the ablity to despise small animals who smell quite badly of poo. The TV doesn't help either, instead annoying with it's buzz, hum, and annoying felines.
Moving on to viral consequences, I don't think that tomorrow is infact the day after the day after yesterday, considering the claims of what tomorrow will bring are ludicrous in that things 'lie around tomorrows curvatures'. This is obviously lies whereas the ghosts of Julember claim to be the winner in this scenario of rubbing over small canine hairs, tenfold in their presence, and widely rumoured to be the best in a list of small, stinging animals, with six tails hanging freely from their buttocks of joy.
Magazines scattered over the floor, helping me learn the learnitude of w00tness, educating in a way unimaginable by the standards of the standardisation surrounding the current state of events, where averageness underlines the ablity to despise small animals who smell quite badly of poo. The TV doesn't help either, instead annoying with it's buzz, hum, and annoying felines.
Moving on to viral consequences, I don't think that tomorrow is infact the day after the day after yesterday, considering the claims of what tomorrow will bring are ludicrous in that things 'lie around tomorrows curvatures'. This is obviously lies whereas the ghosts of Julember claim to be the winner in this scenario of rubbing over small canine hairs, tenfold in their presence, and widely rumoured to be the best in a list of small, stinging animals, with six tails hanging freely from their buttocks of joy.
"As the mild morning dew, slowly falls onto the sandy floor. Everyone from the evening before is left contemplating speech, yet silence overwhelms the majority of the small town. In its entirety, this town is left bemused, and wondrous of the actions of the previous day. Everyone knows what has happened in this sub-urban wooden metropolis, but were too speechless to talk about it.
The deformity continued to grow on the bus drivers face, as the sun shone glowingly upon it. The feature almost acidic in quality reflected the UV rays like a mirror, as it continued to guzzle the brew by the pint. Some watched in awe as the mans head inflated to almost twice its original size. As it reached the point where many would think it was to explode, it opened up a hole in his face. His brain bulged, and enticed the public into his world, his sick, perverse world, his randomity.
Inside, it was murky and grey, while the fish were casually crushed into branded fruit juice. An odd creature stumbled across the group, who looked almost tourist-like. The creature spoke his name as 'Csdr' as many attempted to pronounce his name, they dropped to the floor in a state of disparity.
They stalled out of the fogginess, confused of their journey, but were anticipating their next hour of the bus mans randomity. They managed to destroy half of the vegetation, which was moulded from the finest of clays. The brightly coloured lights and the vivid sounds of this odd mans randomity immersed the towns people.
Unsure of whether to question the circumstance, one man steps forward. Unwillingly, another man stabs him in the face with a 2H pencil, they rejoice as he slips onto the brightly painted pavement. Two mongoose henchmen carried the corpse away where it shall be stored, for the future.
The pace was too fast for many, as they gasped for the grape-flavoured air. Unknowingly it was mustard gas, but, until it was too late, they continued to breathe the hefty murk. The weak died slowly as they were flipped inside out. The henchmen returned, and feasted upon the deceased, whilst the others feared turning round.
The puma from the previous randomity returned, and persisted in performing front flips and side step dances. He managed to execute a rendition on 'Singing in the rain' in a top hat and leather nightgown, before he was shot in the gut. The bloodthirsty henchmen were already dead, from the previous sector. So the townsmen watched the big cat degrade into the silky glass.
The remainders of the group were sprinkled all along the drivers twisted randomity, but all awaited their next visit, to this place. They escaped to the normal place, where they feared to speak, from fear of execution. The randomity was over for now, but the small town was shattered; yet rejuvenated by the totality of the trip."
The deformity continued to grow on the bus drivers face, as the sun shone glowingly upon it. The feature almost acidic in quality reflected the UV rays like a mirror, as it continued to guzzle the brew by the pint. Some watched in awe as the mans head inflated to almost twice its original size. As it reached the point where many would think it was to explode, it opened up a hole in his face. His brain bulged, and enticed the public into his world, his sick, perverse world, his randomity.
Inside, it was murky and grey, while the fish were casually crushed into branded fruit juice. An odd creature stumbled across the group, who looked almost tourist-like. The creature spoke his name as 'Csdr' as many attempted to pronounce his name, they dropped to the floor in a state of disparity.
They stalled out of the fogginess, confused of their journey, but were anticipating their next hour of the bus mans randomity. They managed to destroy half of the vegetation, which was moulded from the finest of clays. The brightly coloured lights and the vivid sounds of this odd mans randomity immersed the towns people.
Unsure of whether to question the circumstance, one man steps forward. Unwillingly, another man stabs him in the face with a 2H pencil, they rejoice as he slips onto the brightly painted pavement. Two mongoose henchmen carried the corpse away where it shall be stored, for the future.
The pace was too fast for many, as they gasped for the grape-flavoured air. Unknowingly it was mustard gas, but, until it was too late, they continued to breathe the hefty murk. The weak died slowly as they were flipped inside out. The henchmen returned, and feasted upon the deceased, whilst the others feared turning round.
The puma from the previous randomity returned, and persisted in performing front flips and side step dances. He managed to execute a rendition on 'Singing in the rain' in a top hat and leather nightgown, before he was shot in the gut. The bloodthirsty henchmen were already dead, from the previous sector. So the townsmen watched the big cat degrade into the silky glass.
The remainders of the group were sprinkled all along the drivers twisted randomity, but all awaited their next visit, to this place. They escaped to the normal place, where they feared to speak, from fear of execution. The randomity was over for now, but the small town was shattered; yet rejuvenated by the totality of the trip."
You wish you started this
(maybe not)
I sure do.
(maybe not)
I sure do.
Isn't Cashmir to do with Burberry?
Kashmir is classic song.
I listen to Kashmir after Foos.
I listen to Kashmir after Foos.
Left alone in the light, a platapus can rumple sideways to prevent inflation of its lower genitals. Also, placing it's hygine leaflets in the sausages could possibly result in a part-time scrap between large helicopters and purple lemons.
So, to avoid such obvious VAT, a dance must be done. A dance of many nipples. Travelling the waze of a donkey, one must fly upwards towards the cheese grating devices, which as such, don't make any kettles less fragile.
Be warned - fish don't land on their heads many times, so if one is seen doing so, a cause of inflated toast would be the outcome of what is otherwise a fresh carrot. Clean the buxom, fry the chess, don't flop don't mop or I'll stuff you with cress.
So, to avoid such obvious VAT, a dance must be done. A dance of many nipples. Travelling the waze of a donkey, one must fly upwards towards the cheese grating devices, which as such, don't make any kettles less fragile.
Be warned - fish don't land on their heads many times, so if one is seen doing so, a cause of inflated toast would be the outcome of what is otherwise a fresh carrot. Clean the buxom, fry the chess, don't flop don't mop or I'll stuff you with cress.
Page: