Loping your mule, bopping your baloney, yanking your crank, pulling your pud...take your pick.

Jack

... more 'refreshments' and have thus afforded themselves the use of more words.

It's not like I wouldn't manage.

With an extra shot of gargle.

I finally had to call an exterminator. I was afraid it would eat them all before they had a chance to flower.

Fucking Tolchucks.

The Fray is the place where Tolchucks feast on unsuspecting Yarbles...

and the Momraths outgrabe.

And it's false advertising if there's no milk in them. Oh wait, galactic, not galactose. Which frankly this place could use more of.

it's an intolerance.

And you're right - there's an awful lot of that around here.

The Fray is the place where they should be handing out intoleractose by the fistful.

Should've said Intoleractaid - there's plenty of intoleractose around already. That's the problem.

The Fray is the place where every really stupid thing you've ever written has been replied to, and is thus preserved (to your mortification) in perpetuity.

The fray is the place where I decided to live out my fantasies, rather than live with my realities.

[D'oh!]

The Fray is a foundling home for disowned aspects of self.

But don't assume - you'd be surprised.

The Fray is the place where everybody looks like I do, and I can't really stand anyone.

Except the ones I fall in love with.

[Assuming you're white. If you're not, you could just as easily substitute "nobody", and perhaps even reverse the "can't stand" and "fall in love".]

It's the swamp gas I'm allergic to, I'm not galactically intolerant.

The Fray is the Chowder Society for thoughtful people traumatized by discernment.

The fray is the place where a connoisseur of the mastubatory arts can find a mentor.