h a l f b a k e r yFree set of rusty screwdrivers if you order now.
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Is the sentiment of the poem not that the fact that there is some John Bull cumlord interred in a place that makes that place automatically England? As in, you don't need a special plot; it is special just because it has said JBC in it? |
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On that reading, it would be another, more organic means to the end of the pixellation of nation states discussed (esp. by me) as nauseum at the halfbakery. |
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Good pun, though, well played. |
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"nauseum" sounds like a building in which to keep and display very old vomit of marginal interest. |
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On second thoughts, as you were; you can use Holyrood. Nothing else useful happens there*. |
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* except perhaps the murder of David Rizzio, but that was a long time ago, and besides, the wench is dead... |
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You might like to pay a bit more attention to the second stanza
of the poem, [8th], concerning gentleness and hearts at peace.
Maybe you could have it engraved on your flamethrower, or on
the breechblock of your acht-acht. |
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There's no room, we already put "Go, bid the Soldiers shoot" on them... |
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Since the strain that made its way to Iceland came
from Great Britain, wouldn't that suffice? |
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