danceswithcats, back from meeting with Trogdor the Burninator is happy to intercept that pass from gardentraveler and pass to…
Feydeau who needs to go have dinner, and so passes the non-ball-thingy to…
…twicks, who hopes like hell GT is still around, because she has to go take out the trash and doesn’t want to risk throwing out the ball by mistake.
*Sternvogel, who wonders if *Feydeau has ever been to a Fadó. Still full from the Stouffer’s Escalloped Chicken dinner I ate a few hours ago, I pass to…
On further review, I attempt to atone for my delayed post and atrocious coding by picking off twickster’s pass and flinging the ball to…
gardentraveler who’s still not on your team and is hoping twicks and Feydeu can hold the fort because it is once again way past her bedtime and she will be falling asleep about 10 seconds after flinging the rather worn Doperball to…
…twicks, who stifles a yawn as she prepares to sign out for another evening…
Sternvogel, fresh from contributing to your “Whoa, that makes me feel old” thread, removes the ball from your grasp and sends it down the coal chute of his mother’s old house, where it is removed by…
Feydeau (who has never been to Fado’ but will certainly aim for it next trip to Vegas), who grabs the ball and swiftly crawls into bed with it. Good night, all!
Using a long handled ball grabber, danceswithcats fetches something from **Feydeau[/s] bed :eek: and hopes the bed person will suffer no ill effects. Contemplating the remaining persons awake, and the cute redheaded waitress he met at his first doper meeting at Fado’ in Philly years ago, he kicks the ball towards…
the back of my head. It bounces off, and I didn’t notice a thing.
Sternvogel, who is idly wondering how convoluted this thread would look twenty or so years from now if a bunch of the posters involved were to change their screen names in the interim…
Ignore my last post – I grab the ricochet off Scott Plaid and punch the ball into the GOAL! 1-all now!
And since I got us on the scoreboard, I hereby name our squad The Larruping Lemurs!
be we of the ring-tailed variety or no?
Aye-aye! I’m not replying in the affirmative, I’m invoking this nocturnal primate. Then again, I can see why you’d identify more with Lemur catta, so you’re welcome to consider yourself ring-tailed if you like. With that settled, more or less, I’ll put the ball into play by sending it on a flight to Madagascar, where it is claimed at the baggage counter by…
Snakescatlady, who doesn’t know if she’s ring tailed or not, but grabs the ball and stands in line at customs…
Scott (who should really be asleep by now), who could have sworn this team was called "Those goddamned "S"s, checks the bag where it is about to go towards it’s destination, but falls out the cargo hatch in midflight, sending it (and a large metal door) through the goal posts.
With his team now enjoying a 2-1 lead, Sternvogel puts the ball into play for the Lemurs from his apartment in Indriana – oops, make that Indiana.
Ok, I got it.
In the goal it goes. Plop!