Everything has got a bit serious, argumentative and abusive recently. So what we need is a messageboard game. The thing about the Internet is that there is no way to know what someone is really like. I mean, for all you know, I could be a PE teacher, Telstar could be a Mormon with six wives and forty children, and Jon could have boring hair and be good with women.

So the game is this : Pick a boardmember, and invent their reality. There's a few rules :

1. Your answer must be wildly inaccurate, and preferably funny. Not one element of truth (other than the board name, and some real basics) should enter into it.

2. This is supposed to be fun. Don't be offensive, don't try to hurt people, and don't use it as an excuse to settle scores.

3. Feel free to expand on someone else's answer, but no contradiction. If you have a great idea that doesn't fit one of the new truths already in the thread, pick a new victim and apply it to them. So if someone has already said that I'm a small, green space-frog from Alpha Centuari, you can't contradict that. You'll need to turn someone else into your Russian werewolf spy.

4. There is no rule 4. There is also no prize.

5. Anonymous posters will be mocked unmercifully. No difference there then.

Have fun!

Cheers,
Graham

Graham is secretly a hampster who works for British Intelligence.

In Response to zamphir (#19661):

But publicly, he is a gerbil who works for the Russians. His is an agonizing secret.

In Response to sakuruth (#19666):

What makes it all the more tragic is that his one true love, a cat named Fresca, is not only the mascot and true evil-genius-mind behind all recent sordid acts of the American government, but is also so disinterested in G. that she's tried to eat him (in the most unpleasant and literal of ways) on three seperate occasions -- the last of which, a time when he tried to admit his deep feelings for her when he saw her ordering a Frappuccino at Starbucks.

In Response to daubergoat (#19667):

In fact, it was a vanilla-flavoured frappucino. And ever since, he has kept his shrine to her scented with vanilla and coffee beans.

It is important to note that his Russian superiors would frown on his forbidden love if they knew about it. His English superiors, on the other hand, are encouraging him, in the hopes that Fresca - an American expatriate - can be groomed to use her talents for their ulterior motives.

In Response to sakuruth (#19668):

Graham's love has been tempered by Fresca's continual digestion of his prosthetic tail. He will soon undergo gene therapy, splicing some gecko chromosones in there. He just hopes his wife and kids in Malta don't notice his absence.

Phillip's one true love is quilting. He never drinks beer while he is quilting.

Deerboy actually wears a beret and "chills" at uber cool cafes with his hipster doofus friends, children are possibly his, to whom he does not know.

In Response to deerboy (#19670):

Phillip recently won the All-Scandinavian Quilt-Off finals in Helsinki. He smuggled himself in and out of the country on a large oil freighter in order to avoid paying duty on his enormous basket of cloth swatches. His main rival, a Finnish lady with big hair and one leg, fell mysteriously ill the day before the contest.

I already did this for Zamphir for his 'about me' contest, but the bastard never acknowledged my winning status. :P And now I've lost the email.

In Response to tor (#19673):

Dude! WTF? Not one element of truth should enter into it.

Anyway, its more of a 'cap' than a beret . . .

In Response to tynic (#19676):

Kewanee, IL (AP) - Late breaking reports suggest foul play in the mysterious illness that rendered one-legged finalist Liisa "Stumpy" Gertrud incapable of participating in August's All-Scandinavian Quilt-Off finals in Helsinki.

It seems that a group of elderly women in Kewanee, all of whom have purchased and adore Philip's quilts, were conspicuously absent from their weekly bingo get-together at the VFW Hall. The ringleader, a Ms. Dorthea Swanson, widow to the hog-farming kingpin Delbert "Scoot" Swanson, was reportedly driving to Rockford a few days earlier to acquire three things: arsenic, old lace, and 5 round-trip tickets to Finland.

Police have apprehended three of the women, Abigail Thorpe, Mary Lou Jehosenfeffer, and a wheelchair-ridden septigenarian who responds only to the name "Quicksilver",and booked them on attempted murder and "general finegaling an carousing to the point of excess in a foreign land"-- but Swanson, as well as another accomplice, not impossibly Martha Stewart, are still at large.

Deerboy is a multimillionaire philanthropist. And mushroom farmer.

In Response to tynic (#19676):

I already did this for Zamphir for his 'about me' contest, but the bastard never acknowledged my winning status. :P And now I've lost the email.

Here's a brief sample:
After a brief stint in the Soviet army, you went AWOL in November of 1984 and spent 15 years hiding in the forest with three Russian woodcutters, all of whom had beards to rival Willie Nelson. No, seriously. Give these beards a guitar and they could write a gentle country and western ballad fit to break your heart. You were eventually flushed out of hiding after a rogue icecream truck came careening through the forest and flattened your pet cat. The woodcutters were heartbroken. The beards wrote a song about it.

Discovering that the USSR had long since collapsed, you emigrated to the US. After some ill-fated dabbling in the Wall Street stock markets, you were forced to turn tricks for a living in the wilds of northern canada. One night, driven mad by desperation, you killed a john armed with nothing but your lipstick and a high-heeled shoe and stole his wallet. Now you mostly smoke pot and eat icecream.

:-P

Dynedain. (ooh... this could get me in trouble).

Dynedain is not, as has been previously hypothesized, a green-skinned Siberian Fire Donkey. He is, in fact, more mauvish in complexion (though he hides it with some pumpkin-based concealer), has only the standard three arms, two heads, and no external tail. There is absolutely no evidence that he has ever had any connection to the Latverian Mafia, but maybe that's just what they want you to believe.

Clan_Hanna is actually a shrub.

In Response to zamphir (#19687):

explains why he voted for bush...aww crap...reality check

shit. it bounced.

In Response to zamphir (#19687):

Rather, Clan_Hanna is a symbiotic colony of organisms taking the shape of a shrub. At least that's the gist of Sakuruth's presentation for the International Union of Biological Sciences' 12th World Forestry Congress, to be held 21-28 September, Québec City, Québec, Canada. Despite her novel and amazing findings, her academic career will derail when she asks the keynote speaker to sign her belly with a Sharpie.

Zamphir annually defies the laws of physics and Lesotho by jumping upward out of subterranean aquifer directly across the border into South Africa (circumventing customs and border checkpoints). Each year he picks a different, randomly chosen trajectory in order to avoid authorities.

In Response to Clan_Hanna (#19698):

Zamphir's secret shame is that he is not, in fact, the Master of the Pan Flute. He is but the apprentice.

In Response to mcgrue (#19720):

I've told you all again and again.

I don't swing that way.

In Response to zamphir (#19724):

I don't swing that way.

When he finds that the servant is the master, how are you are you going to turn his face to . . .

I can't even type that.

Sorry.

In Response to deerboy (#19728):

I can't even type that.

It's the thought that counts.

In Response to jettaboy20 (#19745):

Despite his many talents, deerboy frequently loses al of his fingers. Luckily he has the ability to regenerate them.

In Response to themysticalone (#19756):

However, the regeneration is a long, drawn out process that usually involves hamsters, a gerbil, 3 feet of partially reconstituted weasel-based intestine, 4 gallons of mead and a rather sharp-looking piece of rusted iron. This combination equates to anaphylactic shock whose byproduct is new appendages.

Neither the gerbil nor deerboy drink.

Snipergirl is in fact that. She's a 12 year old assassin for hire. Her "hit for hire" ads have been seen in y.m., M magazine, teen People, and Cosmo girl.

Hires have been hard to come by because of a few factors: Must be in her bike riding area, Her curfew is at 9 p.m. making night "hits" difficult, Homework must be done before she can go out, and Dinner is at 6 p.m. sharp.

In Response to deerboy (#19728):

Well, I'm exceptionally flexible for an XY'er...