02-04-2001, 06:17 PM | #1 | ||
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The I can't believe it's not a dynasty dynasty.
On these pages shall henceforth be born my own tale of football. There comes a point in a man's life when he needs a dynasty.
Be prepared. Be warned. Coming soon.
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02-05-2001, 03:39 AM | #2 |
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Scene 1K: Reyjkavik, Iceland 18:00 GMT
Despite the summer sun casting ample light onto the steps of the historic building the worlds' photographers are taking no chances with this monumental occasion and are bathing the area in constant flashlight as the final touches are applied to the impressive looking bound folder. Peace it seems has finally broken out. "I am looking forward to much peace, happiness and prosperity for our two nations" beamed the Russian President as he handed his American counterpart the pen with which he had just signed a treaty to end the explosive situation that had only days earlier threatened to end the world as we know it. "I am looking forward to it too," replied the American President "here is to peace, prosperity and happiness." And with that she pulls out her hip flask and empties it down her long-neck in one long gulp. The Russian President has immediately reached for a half-full bottle of vodka and without even needing a glass has joined his new American friend in emptying the contents.
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02-05-2001, 03:40 AM | #3 |
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Scene 2K: Kremlin Building, Moscow, Russia. KGB Headquarters 18:07 GMT
A large group of men dressed in military office attire sit around a table puffing on cigars and watching a CNN feed. "Those fools," says the man at the head of the table turning back from the television to his colleagues, "they have played right into our hands". "Vitaly Illych," he barks as a fearsome looking man wearing an eye patch snaps to attention at the end of the table. "Take your troops and invade.....oh, let's see...oh yes, Afghanistan. Let's celebrate by teaching those Taliban bastards who really is boss." The room breaks up in hysterical, manic laughter.
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02-05-2001, 03:41 AM | #4 |
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Scene 3K: Langley, Virginia, USA. CIA Headquarters 18:12 GMT
CIA Director Holly Mayflower yells into the phone, "Look Mulder, I don't care if there is some Australian dude out there that looks like you. I have more urgent things to worry about right now. "Sorry about that," she says after replacing the receiver and turning back to the assembled cast in her office. Nobody has really noticed her discussion on the phone anyway, they have been glued to the television set watching the CNN feed of the events in Iceland. "Buffy, what is your read," says Holly, addressing Buffy McDuffy, her Covert Operations Chief. "Looks perfect boss," says Buffy. "The fools have fallen into our trap. Operation Black Swan is all set" "Excellent" says Mayfllower, unable to suppress the evil grin that has spread across her face. "Let's do it and oh, Buff, to celebrate, go out and round up half a dozen or so Central American leaders on whatever charge you can think of. Let's teach those crack-pots who is really in charge here" The room breaks up in hysterical, manic laughter.
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02-05-2001, 03:43 AM | #5 |
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Scene 4K: Pontiac, Michigan, USA, Silverdome 03:43 GMT
“For Christ’s sake, turn that goddam television off,” yells Charlie McFarley, the newly appointed Head Coach of the Detroit Lions. “This is a goddam football team,” he hollers, causing some of the players to grimace and wince as McFarley’s face turns a bright red. “We are here to win football games, not watch spy movies about freakin’ commies. Now get out on the practice field and let’s get this show on the road.” Special teams captain, Lawrence Goosebump casts a glance at recruit Shlomo Weinberg and winks. He has seen it all before and the Gulf War vet has been yelled at by men tougher than McFarley. Still he thinks, there is something about this man that might just make a difference to the franchise. Weinberg, at just 5 foot 7 and with a Woody Allenesque physique is the newly drafted quarterback from Mount Sinai Tech that threatens to revolutionize the game. A thinker, McFarley calls him. And now he was charged with thinking the Lions into the Superbowl this season, or team owner Vincezo Ferrari was going to make good on his promise to shift the team to Picenza where they would be reborn as the Pisa Toppings in the Italian Seire B soccer competion. ….TO BE CONTINUED
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02-05-2001, 05:58 AM | #6 |
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Damn, I'm teased...
------------------ Alf |
02-05-2001, 03:56 PM | #7 |
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What the f....?
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02-05-2001, 05:59 PM | #8 |
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Is this the point in the story where the talking fish enter into the plot?
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02-05-2001, 06:03 PM | #9 |
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No USNY,
you are thinking about that Muppet Movie that had the fish thrower in it. This story has a guy in a fish suit who wants to drive in the Indi 500.
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02-06-2001, 02:28 AM | #10 |
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Kosta, don't take this as an offense:
it's Piacenza, Pisa is an other city and it's Serie B. Continue...
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02-06-2001, 07:13 AM | #11 |
lolzcat
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Very important catch, Matthijs, that was the only thing in the story that didn't make any sense.
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02-06-2001, 08:34 AM | #12 |
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LOL! Quiksand, That was quote board Material!
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02-06-2001, 08:49 AM | #13 |
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Scene 5K: Silverdome, Pontiac Michigan, GMT 04:56
Team owner Ferrari sits inside a luxury box as the players run through their practice session on the field below. He is intently studying a map of Italy and barking instructions into a mobile phone that is shaped like a banana. “You fool”, he screams. “I want to move to Piacenza, not Picenza, and it is Serie , not Seire. Can’t you Times journalists spell?” He throws the phone down on the ground in disgust, and a waiter slips on it and falls sending a tray of salmon and caviar to come crashing down on the ground.
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02-06-2001, 08:51 AM | #14 |
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Scene 6K:, Silverdome Coaches Office GMT 11:03
“Just one more season Bill and I will be back in Martha’s Vineyard relaxing on my boat,” said the soon to be retired coach to his long serving assistant. After 13 years in Detroit serving the Lions with honour and distinction, retiring Offensive Coordinator Tip O’Levy only had thoughts for his family and boat, all waiting patiently for him. “And I sure as hell won’t miss this food,” he grumped, pushing the delicacy of green eggs and ham away from him as a cat purred in the corner. “Today’s mail is here,” said coaching assistant Bill Fox, breaking the thoughts O’Levy was having of his 17 grandchildren. “Do you have time to check it now, sir? My wife is home with the newborn and I want to get away early if I can.” “Sure Bill. It will be a thrill,” he smiled. “Hey, is that a box?” He checked. Tic Toc, Tic Toc It’s a big clock sir. A big clock! What a shock. A big clock, with big sticks Big sticks, big tricks It’s a big sticks, big tricks, clock stack. Look sir, look sir Clock goes tic toc Tic, tic, toc toc Sticks do tricks Clocks in box Box with shocks It’s a sticks, clocks, box, stack Oh sir, oh sir Shall I call Knox sir? Call Knox quick Fox Knox knows locks Fox knows box But who knows clocks? Clocks not Fox tic Knox not box toc Six sticks tic Six tics toc Then big shock! Help sir, help sir Just Six tics And Six tocs Here comes Knox Quick trick sir Quick flick trick sir Box with locks and sticks Quick let’s do tricks with bricks and locks sir Then Fox can open box sir Then Knox can flick the stick stack quick sir Can’t sir Box locks sticks sir Locks sticks! Box tics Sorry sir! KABOOM! Offensive coordinator Tip O’Levy, Assistant Bill Fox and Defensive Coordinator Chuck Knox were instantly killed. In a small delicatessen in Palermo, Sicily a man wearing a black trenchcoat took a call on his satellite phone. He heard the words “it is done”. [This message has been edited by Kosta (edited 02-06-2001).]
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02-06-2001, 09:00 AM | #15 |
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I did know this thread was going to be a Dynasty musical
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02-06-2001, 09:09 AM | #16 |
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C-Town, more of a Dr Suess bit. If people haven't picked it up yet, this is a football tale of mafia corruption and intrigue being presented in as many different styles as my brain can work up. Hence the red herring political thriller, jewish sarcasm, slapstick, Suess, etc bits......
Mr Pulitzer might not come knocking, but I'm hoping HBO might sign on for a series.
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02-06-2001, 10:07 AM | #17 |
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This is unreal. No offense to QuikSand, but may just be the most entertaining Dynasty thread. I have some contacts at HBO - I'll get on the phone.
Now that Big Pussy is dead, the Sopranos do not interest me anymore. [This message has been edited by FishFan (edited 02-06-2001).] |
02-06-2001, 10:34 AM | #18 |
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All of a sudden I see a chorus line forming and Kosta doing high leg kicks
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02-06-2001, 02:47 PM | #19 | |
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Quote:
Well, receivers need quarterbacks, centers need guards, homerun-hitters need pitchers, centers need wingers, golfers need putters, jockeys need horses. I'd be willing to walk away with being mentioned.
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02-06-2001, 03:21 PM | #20 |
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memo to doctor: cut down on the professor's vegemite allowance limit. |
02-06-2001, 04:35 PM | #21 |
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Why am I looking forward to the next installment of this dynasty report?
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02-06-2001, 05:48 PM | #22 |
Pro Rookie
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Because we're sick, sick puppies. |
02-06-2001, 08:32 PM | #23 |
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man, this is the problem with ebooks. I'm sitting here eagerly waiting for the next installment . . .
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02-07-2001, 07:40 AM | #24 |
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Scene 7K: Grosse Point, Michigan, USA: Shlomo Weinberg’s bedroom 21:24 GMT
“So how would you like your mvp award?,” whispered Ferrari as she removed what was left of her clothes and joined Weinberg on the bed. The two had been secretly seeing each other for 10 weeks now, trying desperately to keep it a secret from the tongues inside the Lions who would no doubt have sneered at the clandestine relationship between the owners wife, Diana Ferrari and the teams new franchise quarterback. “Oh you know what I like,” smiled Weinberg, tilting his head to the side in mock innocence. Despite his tiredness from the grueling practice session that had only ended a few hours earlier, his physical reaction to Ferrari’s supple body was clearly visible under the silk sheet covering him. “Oh I know what you like alright,” she responded and with that she disappeared slowly under the sheet. Three minutes and 43 seconds later, they lit a cigarette. “I have to get home”, she whispered. “That pig of a husband of mine will be returning soon”. No sooner had she finished speaking than the phone rang. Weinberg answered and she looked at him puzzled as his face turned white. Weinberg said nothing and replaced the receiver. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Bomb, dead, Silverdome” was all Weinberg would say before picking up the phone and dialing a long number by heart.
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02-07-2001, 07:42 AM | #25 |
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Scene 8K: Tel Aviv, Israel, MOSSAD Headquarters 21:30 GMT
Lieteunant General Avi Rosenburg took copious notes with the secure phone nuzzled against his neck. “Thanks Shlo”, he finally said and hung up. “Simon, get over here,” he called, motioning Simon Cohen towards him. When Cohen arrived, duly saluted and stood at ease, Rosenburg began a 13 minute brief. Cohen asked no questions, just nodded his head and finally snapped back to attention and marched off with considerable purpose in his stride. Rosenburg knew that this was going to be a huge challenge for the secret Israeli intelligence organisation, known as Mossad. For 35 years they had secretly run professional football, siphoning off the vast fortune it generated to fund their nuclear weapons program that had thwarted the Palestinian efforts in the Middle East for decades. Now it seemed that the Mafia had wanted to wrestle control away, by taking control of the teams in key markets. Rosenburg knew they had to act and act quickly and decisively. Weinberg, the Lions new QB had been planted to secure the franchise. A product of the Cosell Academy in Israel, Weinberg at just a diminutive height and weight was nonetheless the product of years of analysis, research and training. He was as good a playmaker as the game of football had ever seen, but at 5 feet 7 and 160 pounds linebackers all across the country were dreaming of facing him on the gridiron. If I don’t act fast thought Rosenburg, the Mafia will surely have him in their sights next.
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02-07-2001, 07:56 AM | #26 |
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Three minutes and 43 seconds later, they lit a cigarette.
you know they say most writers work from their own experiences Kosta, I am enjoying this keep up the entertaining work.
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02-07-2001, 08:04 AM | #27 |
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Oh no, C-Town, I don't smoke.
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02-07-2001, 10:04 AM | #28 |
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Hey, Ctown, leave him alone!! If he can last 3 minutes 43 seconds, he should be entitled to boast about it!!
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02-07-2001, 10:07 AM | #29 |
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I find it amusing that this not-a-dynasty-dynasty-thread will soon have the most hits of any dynasty thread... then again I have been reading it from the start too...
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02-07-2001, 10:07 AM | #30 |
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Damn that's a long time. Almost as long as I can go. Oh, wait. That says 3 minutes 43 seconds, not 3 hours 43 minutes. My bad.
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02-07-2001, 11:11 AM | #31 | |
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Quote:
Disgusting... I didn't need to know about that! ------------------ Counting the days until spring training...
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02-07-2001, 12:32 PM | #32 |
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What are you talking about, CubsFan?
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02-07-2001, 03:36 PM | #33 | |
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Quote:
Ah, never mind... he deleted his earlier post... ------------------ Counting the days until spring training...
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02-09-2001, 06:32 PM | #34 |
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Scene 9K; Barents Sea, 395 Nautical Miles East of Odessa, Russian Alpha Class Nuclear Submarine “Krakov” GMT 11:59
“Take the conn”, said Admiral Kuznetsov to his first officer, as he stood down from the bridge. It had been a long and difficult route taking the new sub through its paces. As he turned to leave the command area a shrill whistle signaled the arrival of a message. In reality the sub was too deep to receive messages on its sophisticated UHF transponder, but had to surface to capture the encrypted contact sent from fleet command. The whistle merely alerted the captain that a surface was needed. Within minutes the Krakov had reached a level just below the surface and had raised its miniature UHF aerial. The message capture took less than a second, ensuring that it was unlikely that a rival ship or sub could track the Russians. The message once captured was viewed through a small printer, not too unlike the ones you would see in a modern bank. The message itself was just a jumble of symbols however and needed to be decoded. The decoding process was laborious even in modern times, but was essentially foolproof. Since even teenage hackers across the world had gained access to code breaking technology through the internet these days, you could never be too safe. Leading Russian mathematicians had pioneered the 256 bit encryption system that was capable of taking a basic sentence and transferring its contents into billions of random symbols. The decoding was done through a computer display that in simple terms developed a totally new coding system for each transmission. You could in theory never break the code, because there was no code to break. Each message was a once in a lifetime event that would never be repeated. As the first officer inputted the symbols into the system and waited for verification, a computer back in the Kremlin that had created the new code for this message instantaneously transferred it’s detail to the Krakov’s on board system. A series of security checks followed, including voice and print analysis of Kuznetzov. Finally a message appeared. It read simply “Proceed to waypoint Foxtrot Tango Juliet 915 immediately. Run silent. Code Delta Green in progress. Prepare systems for launch and await further orders. This is not a drill.” “What the hell”, muttered Kuznetzov as he read the message. Why were they sending him to the Hudson river?
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02-09-2001, 06:38 PM | #35 |
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WooHoo,
This just keeps getting more exciting. good work kosta!
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02-09-2001, 09:03 PM | #36 |
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Man, this rivals some of Tom Clancys latest crap!
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02-09-2001, 09:03 PM | #37 |
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Man, this rivals some of Tom Clancys latest crap!
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02-11-2001, 10:43 PM | #38 |
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Kosta,
Please write more. Your Humble Servant Ctown ------------------ "It is no longer permitted to be both stupid and slow. You must choose one or the other."
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02-11-2001, 10:47 PM | #39 |
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Do you know how hard it is to write such rubbi...I mean brilliance?
I still have a few genres to cover yet, so there will be more. Somehow this NFL, Russian, Mafia, Israeli, love-scandal will come together....
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02-16-2001, 05:32 AM | #40 |
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I will be back with the continuation of this Pulitzer Prize winning work for all 2.48 of you interested...... just a bit snowed under at present with my "day job".
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02-16-2001, 06:43 AM | #41 |
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Well, thanks for the update, even if it was a thinly veiled attempt at a kostaffecta (wait that sounds to much like a business practice), I mean wigfecta.
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02-16-2001, 07:52 AM | #42 |
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Hehehe While you guys are sleeping I roll in several "pentakosta's" a night.
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02-16-2001, 01:09 PM | #43 |
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Oh sure . . . let a little thing like a job and a life get in the way of great literature. Yeesh, them Aussies! |
04-17-2001, 12:21 PM | #44 |
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Bump.
I am jonesing here! ------------------ FOF Central: Come for the moonshine, stay for the cowtipping. <a href="http://dynamic.gamespy.com/~fof/ubb/Forum1/HTML/002629.html">The Other White Meat</a>
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06-22-2001, 01:33 PM | #45 |
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Pretty Please Kosta, will you write more?
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06-27-2001, 03:58 PM | #46 |
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I promise not to say your stuff is wrong!
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06-28-2001, 11:21 AM | #47 | |
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Quote:
You know, months later, this still may be the funniest thing that Quik has ever said here... Come on, Kosta, we want more!
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06-28-2001, 03:38 PM | #48 |
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I'm gonna have my revenge on QuikSand someday...
Michael, be afraid, be very afraid! Thanks for loaning your line aej²!
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07-03-2001, 08:42 AM | #49 |
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The light grew bright and the sound of a turbine hummed in the distance. As the seconds passed the light began to fill the sky and the noise grew deafening. "The Audience is Listening"....... and with that proclamation, a dynasty was reborn!
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07-16-2001, 10:37 PM | #50 |
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On the bright side, I finally noticed this thread.
On the down side, it's been nearly two weeks. Just my stinkin' luck, get hooked ... and then the pusher vanishes.
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