The Christmas Ale triple distillation and Furgling went quite well this last weekend. Smut Clyde, as Master Brewer carried the Staff of Knowledge and wore the Hat of Lore to control the process. Ha ha he didn't see ol' AK operating the Siphon of A Little Bit of What You Fancy. You will notice the special curves in the distillation tubes that assists the Furglisation. It's to do with the angular velocity and the temperature of the Furgle tube. Scholars are referred to Addisons Old Tyme Elixir and Radish supply bulk barn.
And one doesn't have Triple Distillation and Furgling with out Piping in the Essences which Evangeline van Holsterin's vile nephew Throgmorton had purchased from Brian Thradgers Equine School. Problems were 1)Is a donkey an equine? If this was an equine then so are Merry-Go-Round horses which would bite less and smell less. 2) Donkeys do not like bagpipes.
Who does like bagpipes, it turns out, is feral babies who emerged from under the Riddled Petanque Piazza and Non Equestrian sports centre (this means you, bleeding donkeys). I don't know how the feral babies had got under there and the library pixies also don't know although there was some sniggering from those quarters.
So a pretty normal week in the Christmas Ale process. We look forward to next week's nadgering the barrels through the town.
Meh. Chicken Wire is perfectly sound when one is challenged by chickens. We learned the shortcomings of that whole theory when we were overrun by geese in the bloody massacre at Pioneer Park.
Lemme help you here. Concertina. Seriously - that shit will fuck up your day, your week and your aunt. You get some of these fuckers all caught up on the wire under illum rounds and the whole thing gets so ugly you don't even give a shit anymore.
Hard to go any farther than an M113 Armored Assault Vehicle.
Sure, the MoGas is hella flammable and the aluminum gun shields melt into puddles of modern art under RPG fire, but for busting jungle and running convoy, that's the bad boy I wanna be mounted up on.
11 comments:
Obviously, you should have used bassoons. I begin to suspect your qualifications are less than complete.
Fire up the Bassoons!
We really need to finish replastering the Furgle Room after the last explosion.
I was thinking of a chicken wire wall because, not gonna be around long.
Good idea, A.K.
Chicken wire is what I use to keep the mountain laurels contained.
This is what happens without chicken wire!
~
Meh. Chicken Wire is perfectly sound when one is challenged by chickens. We learned the shortcomings of that whole theory when we were overrun by geese in the bloody massacre at Pioneer Park.
Lemme help you here. Concertina. Seriously - that shit will fuck up your day, your week and your aunt. You get some of these fuckers all caught up on the wire under illum rounds and the whole thing gets so ugly you don't even give a shit anymore.
Um, I'm sorry. What was the question?
well, it does take a significant amount of ordnance to properly vaporize a bassoon.
Hard to go any farther than an M113 Armored Assault Vehicle.
Sure, the MoGas is hella flammable and the aluminum gun shields melt into puddles of modern art under RPG fire, but for busting jungle and running convoy, that's the bad boy I wanna be mounted up on.
Bradleys? Sadly, no...
Rabittz been eating Mr. Thundra's battery farmed Mountain Laurels. They got no Nature survival skills.
We go by organic methods, here, Mikey and feed the geese bread, soaked in Christmas Ale. Hah hah fucks their shit right up.
Hard to go any farther than an M113 Armored Assault Vehicle.
Mount a pair of bassoons on that mother, and you'll really HAVE something.
It could serve in a modern, updated armored cavalry unit with Kathleen's Nursing Tank.
I don't know how the feral babies had got under there
Storks.
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