Stung by the pieces of persistently putrid pig, the MoBRS staggers back, half blind like a tramp with an alcohol problem, only to be comforted with 12lbs of flesh and the hard, sunbaked ground. Rolling quickly to avoid any further blows, he jumps up, like a jack in the box, but without the springs or the jack, and reaches deep into his inoffensive cream coloured robe. Savouring the thought of an imminent victory, he pulls out the fabled Tankard of Grog resplendently replete with the Rusty Spoon Of Damnatory Death Doom and Destruction. With prolixity as thick as congealed ye olde porridge, the MoBRS rushes forward towards the meat-juggler and raises his glass high, before brutally emptying the contents of the tankard in his adversary's direction...
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No Win No Fee
Last edited by vonstalhein; 11-16-2003 at 04:26 AM..
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