:::shakes his head, saddened. He really thought jr8 might know the secret of the weapon in the very, very BLACK CORNER wearing very, very BLACK TRUNKS:::
:::and before I spawn a flock of Church Lady Wannabes, the “weapon” is not Satan*:::
- This is not to imply SDMB poster “Satan” is unworthy of battle in the Rochambo Arena… I don’t know, I’ve never met her. But for all intents and purposes, “Satan” in any context in this case is not what my whisky addled mind was thinking of.
(Emphasis mine)
Uh, although it could be strongly argued that most devils are, in fact, women, Satan [sub]the Doper[/sub], is definitely a guy. Ask Drain Bead.
Attacks from all sides! I leap into action, promptly bashing my knees on the underside of my desk. Wincing, I sit down again and type quietly.
The scent-free detergent is easily countered by a ten-gallon drum of Drakkar Noir. Breathe it and weep!
A green carabiner is a different kettle of fish altogether…hmmm…aha! I counter by adding the letter “o”, making it a green carabinero (in other words, a seasick Filipino coast guard official), thus rendering it harmless.
CreaseMunky’s obscure reference, were it to be played, would be easily blocked by my Shield of Supreme Indifference.
And now, to be offensive…I mean, to take offense…no, no…to attack…I’m sending you…a case of the heebie-jeebies (C.O.D.)! Handle with care…
Le Sang limps back into the arena after last night’s internet outage robbed him of any chance to defend himself. As he looks around, he thinks he’s seen prettier things on the bottom of his shoe. This is NOT going to be a good day…
While your case of the heebie-jeebies (C.O.D.) is a formidible attack, the defensive Coma into which I’ve slipped will stop it nicely…
and in the meantime, let’s see you fend off the Dred ISP from Heck (also known as Pitt)… I couldn’t stop that evil… and I’m fairly sure that none of you ever will. HAHAHA
ominous music plays following Le Sang’s latest maneuver
[The Dred ISP from Heck (also known as Pitt) is mertilized by [p]Chinese Info-Terrorists!**
And while I’m at it, I’ll scrape the remainder of the not-quite-eliminated Yellow Marshmallow Peeps off my boots with A Moist Towelette!
[sub]Paper wraps stone?[/sub]
And for my next assault: Fire Ants!
Fire ants? I **spit[/] on your fire ants! Spit puts out fire.
Plus, it’s insulting! 
Armed with my trustworthy Swiss army pocket knife, I extend the magnifying glass and give a whole new meaning to the word “fire ants.” And I’ll take that moist towelette and use it to wipe my brow as I bestow the comical stylings of Carrot-Top.
**Carrot-Top ** is defeated by my Gillette Sensor Razor (the best a man can get). Shorn like Samson, he runs mad into the wilderness, never to return.
I attack with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. You all freeze as you ponder the koans "What is the sound of one hand clapping? Should I get ‘Property of the Hell’s Angels’ tattooed on my ass?
I counter your Zen paradox by hitting my fingers against the palm of my same hand, making a neat fwit-fwit sound.
Then, for good measure and balance, I extend my hand against the air.
I counter with a supply of Wawa French Vanilla pseudo-cappuccino!
Take that, puny ones!
Juan Valdez magically transforms your pseudo-cappucino into rich, dark, Colombian coffee. Black. 1 tsp. sugar. The Soundtrack to The Mission plays in the background.
I neutralize andygirl by scattering 10,000,000 Altoids into the arena. She can’t rest until she picks all of them up and eats them, falling into a pepperminty coma. I crush her with Dr. Laura. Face it andygirl, you’re FINISHED!
Now for my brethren-in-arms, what sayest you to The Tardis?
Please! 10,000,000 Altoids can’t withstand the huge sucking power of Monica Lewinsky. That girl can sweep them up faster than a nuclear powered Hoover.
Monica herself has a nasty trick up her sleeve. Litterally. Yes, folks. It’s the dreaded bra that will just not unhook no matter how much you mess with it SHAZAAM!
You’re kidding right? No?
Okay, then…scissors cut bra.
For that, I challenge you to: listen to your music with headphones with only one working earpiece.
Ha! HAha! Hahhahahahahahah!
<snort!>
Enderw, I already wielded Lewinsky. I’d have to check my Rochambo handbook, but repeats are a no-no, right?
You lose.
I’m kicking Monica to the curb.
These altoids are MINE! ALL MINE!
<mad giggling into the sunset>
With that, I concede.
>>Uh, although it could be strongly argued that most devils are, in fact, women, Satan the Doper, is definitely a guy. Ask Drain Bead.<<
Yanno, I knew that. Brain going in 1 direction, hands going in another. Apologies all around.
Note to self–in the future, do not attepmt humor at 5:30am.
Carry on.
What the? Huh? I wha? I don’t lose! I quit!
:mumble mumble:
Fine then. Andygirl quit at the same time I did. We both go back to my place where I pull out The Penis that turns lesbians straight
The Penis that turns lesbians straight is rendered limp by a Paternity Suit!
[sub]Paper wraps hard-as-a-rock penis.[/sub]
Beware my cruel and unusual attack of Naugahyde!!!
Noo!!! Not Naugahyde! That is practically a banned substance in the Arena due to its destructive nature. A mighty blow has been delivered by Scupper, and I must pause to recuperate, as if I was kicked in the Family Jewels!!
One low blow deserves another. So I retaliate in kind with Non-alcoholic Beer!!! All the great taste, without the alcohol?! What’s up with that? A true universal conundrum, my fellow combatants.
I’ll go ahead and pour a 40 of your Non-alcohoic beer and give props to all the Dopers that we’ve lost in battle.
As for you Busta Rib, you must endure the alarm clock that wakes you up at 4:17am and the snooze doesn’t work and neither does the volume because it was made in some poor slave labor camp by a little six year old. And it only gets polka music and the all static channel.