Reporter: i'm standing here with Blackamp, winner of both the 1000 and 1500 STG door prizes. so, Blackamp, how does it feel to take out yet another STG door prize?
Blackamp: freakin' awesome, Clint. i really didn't expect to win - there was a lot of tough competition - Coquette, GBS, Kewpie and the rest, and of course, the Ice man himself. and then, you never know if Bob is going to jump up out of his rocking chair and snatch it out from under your nose.
Reporter: and Rusty put in a late bid?
Blackamp: that's right, Clint. Rusty was right in there near the finish as Bob tried frantically to beat him off. luckily i was able to stay focussed, put in 110%, and keep my eyes on the ball.
Reporter: so, any plans to contest the 2000 door prize?
Blackamp: no, not at all, Clint. i feel i've achieved everything i wanted, and more, and it's time to move on to fresh challenges.
Reporter: thanks for your time, Blackamp, and congratulations.
Blackamp: thanks, Clint.
Reporter: back to you, Bryant.
Originally posted by Grampy Bobbythat's ok, Bob, no need to apologise for your error. cheer up, you can have the 2000 door prize.
04 Jan '10 00:55 :: 0 recommendations
Originally posted by Grampy Bobby
Wondering when STG will cruise past [b]1500 friendly hits. Guessing 10 January 2010.
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so you're not leaving the thread after all? did the thing with the new grammy fizzle out already? it's always a mistake to announce these things prematurely in a public forum, i feel. it's better to wait until it's firmly established. but hey, there are plenty of fish in the sea, and they're biting, so buck up and get back out there!
Originally posted by Ice ColdPine Cones
The object is to keep this thread on top of page one. A game destined to fail. 😞
Perhaps some page one internet bulletin board threads
occasionally assume a few marginal human attributes
as they wait with ceremonious impatience for validation,
as if a postman may deliver an unexpected perfumed gift
or some invincible puppy love phone will finally ring.
Those on page two and beyond accept their altered status
and understand that going well behind all known moons
in an orbit equating with benign, if not merciful, neglect
is nothing more or less than the essence of the scheme.
Somewhere in a slightly less fictitious corner of the planet
a sheaf of ancient love letters smiles comfortably numb,
unaware of being relegated to the top drawer of a dust
laden bureau in a lakefront summer cabin, where a white
boat with blue trim is innocently dry-docked and the casual
stillness broken only by reluctant pine cones still falling.
(Gift for Miss STG from one of her admiring RHP Uncles)
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