Outrageous Lies About the Poster Above, V.16 - A Call to Liars Old and New

[Knight of Ashes]

That is so weIrd 'cause I just finished reading a NSA-related article.

*****Arya Kiddin' s still next in line for a lie******

[honeyed chicken]

**tackle hugs AK. Squeezes him till he wheezes, "Put me down! Put me down!!**

Missed you man! Hope you are OK?

Nice to see you too, BS0!

@GoG: channeling your inner Geddy Lee, I see.

You hear rumors.

If you hang out in the dives I live in, you hear nothing but rumors. They come and go like mice being chased by rats. Cigarette smoking rats with switch blades. None of them have legs. When the light of day shines in (rarely) there's nothing to be seen but spilled beer, cig butts and the occasional drunk lying under a table in the corner. Maybe he's alive, maybe not. Who cares? "None of my business." That's the thinking.

Rumors help pass the time.

But this one rumor I'm referring to wasn't just gossip. There was a dame (isn't there always?). She walked in here and everything stopped. It wasn't a "Whoa, this is different." or a "Cripes! Look at that!" moment. It was a moment where time froze. Just a second. But everything froze. Even the whiskey flowing out of the bartender's bottle stopped in mid pour. We didn't know what it meant, then, but we knew something had changed.

We know now.

KoA had come to town. And with him (**shudder**), respectability.

[HexMachina]

Greetings, Mr. Kidding. You were sorely missed *squeezes Arya Kiddin' till he's blue* :grouphug:

=====================================================

Pollo de Uruguay has been astounding and amazing crowds of adoring fans by accurately predicting their drink of choice; tea or coffee. Men and women will queue for hours at a time to witness his magic. Hundreds and thousands have been to see this phenomenon, and every one has been correctly guessed by Pollo de Uruguay.

I was lucky enough to be given an opportunity to observe this magical individual. I sat inside his purple and gold tent, heavily perfumed with the spices of saffron, cloves and star anise. Crystals glittered on the polished surfaces of the mahogany tables, and ropes of colourful glass beads draped from the silk walls of the tent. Pollo de Uruguay himself was seated on an impressive seat of gold and silver, piled high with plump purple cushions. His beard was luxuriously oiled, his hair cascading in rusty curls to his waist, he looked every inch the mystic in his robes of starlight and shadows.

"Send in the first," he declared, his voice drifting out of the shadowed tent like the wisps of incense rising from.the burner.

The first was a woman, no older than fifty. She was grinning like a fool when.she entered, but bowed reverently before Pollo de Uruguay.

"Oh Mystic One, show me your powers." she said in tones of zealous ecstasy.

Pollo de Uruguay looked at her for a moment, tilting his head lightly to one side. He rose from his throne and glided towards her, circling once, twice, three times. He paused and leaned close for a moment.

"Coffee," he whispered. "Coffee."

The woman gave a gasp of glee and giggled wildly. "You're right, you're right!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Oh you're so great Mystical One!"

With that she skipped from the tent, skirts swirling, and the next worshiper entered.

All day we sat, as Pollo de Uruguay proclaimed tea or coffee, correct each and every time. At last the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and the spectacle ended for the day. Fascinated, I approached Pollo de Uruguay and asked him if he would reveal his secrets.

He flashed a brilliant white smile at me, and tipped me.an enormous wink. "A good deity never reveals his tricks," he laughed. "But I like you Helena, and trust you will never divulge this secret. Its all in the listening. A coffee drinker's stomach will rumble to the note of F minor, a tea drinker that of B flat." He smirked. "Tricks of the trade dear Helena, its all in the pretence. People want magic, and I give them the show...and incidentally," he leaned close to me. "Tea. But you recently gave up coffee." With a laugh at the amazed expression on my face, he glided past me, robes trailing the floor, and exited the tent

[Arya kiddin']

:lmao:

Hello to you all as well. *Squeezes everyone into a suffocating group hug, and stealthily puts down ice cubes down their shirts*

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helena had been falsely convinced by her cousin when she was five that she was allergic to chocolates. As a result she has had a very depressing childhood. :(

[Ghost of Groat]

The massive cargo ramp at the rear of the C-130 opened and Arya Kiddin’ got his first look at the night landscape that he was soon to be deploying into. The cold air rushed in and the few patches of his exposed skin began to feel the cold. Had he not been on his personal oxygen supply, AK would succumb to hypoxia in as little as 20 seconds at this altitude. This would be his highest jump yet and his first nighttime jump into a live operation. OPSEC for this mission required him to be briefed while in flight to minimize the chance that anyone could leak the details of tonight’s insertion. The big light turned green and AK’s muscles moved of their own accord propelling him out the rear of the plane. AK checked the integrity of his O2 and his altitude with a quick glance at his wrist-born flight computer. He was already down to 24,000 feet and had over half of his oxygen left. Suddenly he could no longer see his wrist or even his hand in front of his face. He had fallen into the clouds. This was not supposed to happen. The doctrine that governed training and deployment had one cardinal rule: Never jump into a cloud. Night jumps were dangerous enough but here AK found himself alone, at night, over hostile terrain, and blinded by tiny tiny water droplets. With no reference to the stars, no reference to the ground, and no ability to see his altimeter AK was on the verge of full blown panic. His heart raced and he sucked down his precious, limited O2 at the same rate an Olympic sprinter would. Every fiber in his being screamed for him to pull the rip-chord that would unleash his main chute and allow his drogue chute to pull it free of its pack. But the whole point of a high altitude low open or HALO op was to insert covert agents undetected. If he opened now the chances greatly increased that someone on the ground would see him. He closed his eyes and used his highly developed kinesthetic sense, the fluid and little hairs in his inner ears, to orient his body into the max drag prone position. Once stabilized, he opened his eyes. The clouds had thinned and he was now falling along with a gentle rain. The computer on his wrist was visible again and told him he was out of O2 but falling through 12,000 feet and therefor didn’t need a supplemental air supply. AK then unfastened his mask and took his first breath of normal air in hours. Streetlights below resolved into the main arteries that were in his briefing. He was on target. 8,000 feet his heart began to race once more. 5,000 feet getting closer, closer. 3,000 feet the point that would be the normal chute deployment in training. “Wait for it”, his inner voice was saying. 2,000 feet, his left hand grabbed the release pull knowing on its own somehow that 1,200 was the minimum safe height. He finally pulled the release at 1,350 feet above ground level and his main chute deployed with a jolt. His hands naturally flowed to the guide wires and he began to fly his chute like a glider. Turning he found the field that he was briefed to land in. But something was wrong. There was a flickering light in the very center of the clearing. AK then turned to his secondary insertion point, the roof of a low long building. Feet together, knees bent, AK pulled down hard on the guides and brought the chute into a full stall less than a yard above the roof. His boots contacted the tar and gravel. The chute collapsed and AK had just accomplished the perfect landing “like a butterfly with sore feet” as his instructor was always saying. Securing his chute and dropping behind some nondescript HVAC equipment AK reached for his coms and pressed one-eight-send meaning “I’m in”.

[honeyed chicken]

"Well Boozy, it looks like it's just you and me again." said Old Timer looking down into the saggy, baggy eyes of his bloodhound.

Boozy returned the gaze balefully. The dog continued to stare at Old Timer till he relented. "Alright! Just this once." And he held his glass down for boozy to slurp. Boozy quickly drained half the glass then collapsed on his chin.

Old Timer growled, "Damn! Shoulda known the fool dog couldn't hold his booze." He finished his glass then went around the bar and got himself a refill, the barkeep being otherwise occupied out back.

Old Timer was half way down that glass when the stranger walked in. Really big guy. Massive. A head taller than Old Timer with shoulders to match and dressed all in tin and chain. Clearly not from around here.

"You there! Who is lord of this godforsaken place?"

"Lord? We ain't got no church here if that's what you're looking for."

"I've no use for septons and the seven. Who rules here? Where's his castle?"

"Mister, I don't know where you're from, but by the looks - and I didn't hear no horse - you walked in here. You saw. There ain't no place to hide a castle in all this flat sand and desert. If we'da had one, you'da seen it. But there ain't none and no lord neither."

The stranger sat down heavily on a bar stool near Old Timer. He looked defeated. "I need ale." he croaked, "Or wine. I care not which."

"No ale 'bout these parts. No beer here. Never had wine. Just rot gut whiskey." Old Timer went around and poured the man a glass and handed it over. The stranger downed it in one and hissed, making his scared face more hideous.

Looking down at the table he started to talk, more to himself than to Old Timer. "Never meant to live. They should have let me die. Carried me into their box, they did. I passed out then. When I woke my wounds were healed. "Micro-surgery" they called it, what ever that is. Then they left me near here. Said they'd come back for me."

"What? Wait slow down mister. Who should have "let you die"? What box? Surgery? These people sound stranger than you."

"Stranger? Me? I'm an ordinary soldier. Killing people is what I do. Dieing? Piss on it! I'm the Hound. I know how to die. And you. What manner of person are you?"

"Why I'm Ghost of Groat! Everybody in town knows Ghost of Groat - though they mostly just call me Old Timer. Or Mayor."

"More of that rot gut, Groat. All this talking is making me thirsty."

Old Timer started to pour again when there came a strange sound from outside. He looked out the open saloon doors in time to see the weirdest sight he ever had or ever would see. Right there in the street before the Rusty Cactus Saloon, a red box appeared just as the stranger had described it. A door opened. A man and a woman came out and as they did, Old Timer could see past them into a gleaming white room much bigger than the outside of the box. The man beckoned to the stranger, "Come Sandor. We must get you back to Westeros. I think we've got things straightened out in the Tardis now."

Reaching out, the stranger grabbed the whiskey bottle from Old Timer's hand and marched into the box with the strange man and woman and all disappeared.

Old Timer starred at the spot for long minutes.

Finally he dug out another bottle and drank himself to sleep along side his dog.

[beautifulsouth0]

(So happy to see you back, AK! All hi to HC, Helena, KoA and all the rest of you wonderful peep! If this was an in-person reunion, I'd excitedly run into the group hug, knock us all down, and turn it into a cuddle puddle!)

Pollo de Uruguay has turned his house upside down, hunting high and low, for the hand-written copy that he swore his grandma gave him of the recipe for primordial soup.

[Adhara]

Imagine, if you will, a locker-room of nubile femininity.

Alone, in the shower, BS0 is day- dreaming of being asked to the prom by Tommy Ross.

She cuts herself while hedge-trimming, and all the little witches fly over and pelt her with feminine products.

Using just the power of her mind, and a glare perfected by hours of grimacing in the mirror.

Tampon applicators rise up, as if held by un-seen hands, shoot out of the applicator, blinding half of the little tarts,

while the other half of shrieking jezebels were smothered, cotton plugs lodged through the nostril, and into the Brain.

Later that night, wearing the evening gown she made herself by the tiny glow of one candle,

spritzed herself with Britney Spears new perfume, Dementia, she made her way to the prom.

Sadly, there were tumbleweeds rolling around the auditorium, most of the female attendees having been slaughtered.

There was one brave soul, and unfortunately, also made the exact same dress, under the glow of one candle.

Well BS0 went completely bonkers, and squeezing her little peepers in concentration, demolished the gymnasium.

Wads of gum were flying everywhere, sticking to the floor. The horror.

Memo from Principal Weatherbee:

All feminine products are now on lock-down,

and will only be released to students,

by Miss Grundy or myself.

That is all.

[honeyed chicken]

"Britney Spears new perfume, Dementia"

:lmao:

There was a time Adhara would never have thought to ask HIM to anything. Let alone Senior Prom. For that matter, she didn't have to ask. All the boys fawned over her - even the ones who are so stand-offish now. But of course no one wants to go to the big dance with a girl who looks like a lobster. Those photos will haunt you for eternity.

All because of a silly, little mishap at the tanning salon . . .

[Adhara]

Speaking of tanning...

Pollo has sold his Flea Circus,

and is now the major supplier of organic pork rinds.

Every morning he suits up in a neoprene bodysuit.

( Oh, so flattering, as it hugs every nuance of physique )

And slathers each free-range piggy with only the best Extra virgin olive oil,

harvested by only the most extra-virginal.

Which makes it very rare, indeed.

The oil is slowly rubbed into every crevice of the piggy, and it is left to run amok in the desert,

until a nice, tanned, crispy critter.

The skin is then peeled in great strips, and generously salted.

Porky is then left to run free, pink as my....er

Porky is left to run free,

until his peeling is completely healed,

and then the whole process starts again.

Sad Epilog:

The Flea Circus, had a tragic "incident" with the clown car,

all shows have been canceled until further notice. .

[HexMachina]

Adhara hurried up the crooked path, her brown leather shoes slapping noisily on the stones. With a furtive glance around, she darted into the shadows of the trees and disappeared inside the bole of a sprawling holly tree, its' leaves a glimmering green, its' berries a ripe red.

Inside, all was shadow and smoke. Candles burned with lurid green flames, casting an acrid smoke that brought to Adhara the smells of fresh baked bread, her father's cheesy feet and the musky scent of Alex Pettyfer's boxer shorts. It made for a strange combination.

Among the shadows at the back of the small, shadowy hall, Adhara caught her first glimpse of him. A flash of white as a pale, shaking hand beckoned her forward.

"Come closer child..." a voice whispered to her. Or had that been in her head.

She moved forward slowly, stooping to avoid smacking her head on the low ceiling.

"Mr....Mr. Kiddin?" she ventured.

The soft, whispery voice chuckled, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once, the sound of a tomb slamming shut, of the first shovel of dirt into an open grave. "It is...a long time....since anybody called me that....." The quavering voice whispered. "A long time....A long time indeed....But yes, child....Once, I was known as he....as Arya Kiddin'. But that...that was long ago...so long, sweet child."

Adhara fought back a shudder. That voice. It was laced with the sounds of memories long past. Of languages long forgotten, tales no longer told. It took her to the hillside on a stormy evening, exposed to the elements. She was a naked and vulnerable as a babe again in the face of that terrible voice, yet she had come here for a purpose, and she meant to see it through.

"Yes. Yes, I know you Arya Kiddin'. Your name and that of your friends passed from all but the oldest minds, but I still know. When I was but a girl, I was told. My grandmother, shrunken and wizened, aged beyond compare. She took me on her knee and told me your sad tale, whispering all I needed to know to some day find you." Adhara took a breath. "I sought you for her, Arya Kiddin'. For my grandmother, the woman you knew as Helena."

The shadows seemed to expand for a moment. Adhara heard a creak, like that of an ancient tree in the middle of a dreadful wind. The pale hands appeared again, the veins showing purple blue and green through skin gone paper thin. "Helena...." the voice whispered. "That....I have not heard her name for....many a year...But.... her granddaughter you say? Come closer child."

Adhara crept forward. Those hands, those pale, skeletal hands, closed around her wrist and drew her to the shadows. The fingers traced her pale face, touched at her shock of red hair, felt their way around her mouth. Then they withdrew.

"Ah, sweet child....you speak the truth. It is written plain on your face...What would you have of me, child? Anything for a girl of that woman's blood."

Adhara cleared her throat. "I would have you teach me, sir. I would be taught in the ways of the Outrageous Liars. I would return their order to greatness, as they were in your day. Your names flow from my tongue and are music to my ears; Honeyed Chicken, Formerly Varamyr Sixchins, King Joffrey's Revenge, Knight of Ashes,Beautifulsouth0, Ghost of Groat...and you sir. You, who are the last." She peered into the gloom. "Teach me Arya Kiddin' and I shall make your order great once more."

The shadows were silent and still. They remained silent and still. And still. And silent.

And then they shifted, and a nightmare emerged.

Pale and skeletal,with sunken eyes and skin rotted half from the bone. The eyes were dull, grey and dead, a beetle crawled its leisurely way across his hollow cheek. Brittle mud brown hair lay in wisps across his tortured, aged face as Arya Kiddin' looked at this would-be liar.

"Would you.....would you child?" his death rattle asked of her. "Do you know....what it is.....what it is you ask? The sacrifices we made....the loss we endured...." his voice faded for a moment, as he became lost in his grief.

"Once.....once we were great, child. An order....to rival....all others. Lies and deceit.....they were bread and butter to such as we. There was....great cost...hard lives....but worth it....Until the day we dared too much. A lie... a lie too far child, and we fell. One by one...they were taken or silenced. Honeyed Chicken, that brave fowl... taken one day....served as Coq au Vin the next....rolling in his grave, always hated the French. And Knight of Ashes, foolish...foolish. Caught trying to free the Chins....a foolish effort....both of them were lost, I hear they were used as the annual sacrifice to the Cyrus girl.

King Joffrey's Revenge...a sad tale....They came for the 'prentices one night. Ghost of Groat was still in training...fled with him...but always there is one we have wronged....abd that bitch Jolie...she ratted them out, and they ended up on display in the Tate Modern.

And Beautifulsouth0, my sweet, sweet woman...she fought long and hard...warned me....told me about the others....so I hid...I hid and watched as she fought to save us....Then the day came... looking for me....they took her...and....they nade her...." His voice broke with emotion as he burst into tears. Or rather, he wailed as the wind sings through a crack in the door. After a few moments he gained control.

"Made her...made her... apologise.. " he gasped with the horror. "Apologise for all out wrongs....But the girl...she had balls bigger than a man with gonerrhea. She defied them....until they had her killed...freak blackjack accident they said...as if she would....always a rummy gal..."

Adhara looked at the face fearlessly. "But my grandmother escaped. And she woukd have you teach me. Your order can be great again...isn't that what you want, before you die?"

The emaciated figure reclined on his chair, a squashy beanbag shaped as a pikachu head. From the shadows by his side, Arya Kiddin drew out a dusty tome, and opened it to the front page. For a moment, he gazed at his fallen friends and felt nothing but sorrow. Then his resolve hardened, and he fixed Adhara with a gaze that was equal parts determined and crazed.

"I will teach you Adhara. I will teach you for Helena and the others, in their memory. You must swear to di as I say, learn swiftly and pay careful attention. I'm not long for this world, but I have tine enough....Di you swear, child?"

Adhara looked him in haunting eyes, and was struck by how much they reminded her of her dogs diarrehea plops.

"I do swear." she intoned.

The half-corpse gave its' best attempt at a smile. "Good. Straight to business then...." He flicked through the book and came to rest at the beginning if the first chapter. "Rule number one, sweet child," he began. "Any lie that involves the Bieber is immediately rocketed to the high ranks. Slipping him in unexpectedly is even better. Implying fanatic fandom is top notch." He frinned wickedly. "I remember lie, Helena said I was out on a stormy night, heading to a shady deal..."

And so it was that Arya Kiddin', last liar of the Outrageous Liars, passed on his knowledge to Adhara, in the hope she would make them great once more.

ETA: I think this may be my.longest lie to date :dunno:

Can I just say, 2 pages in and I'm the first to.mention the Biebs? I'm shocked and disappointed with you all :angry:

o

:p :lol:

[honeyed chicken]

(So happy to see you back, AK! All hi to HC, Helena, KoA and all the rest of you wonderful peep! If this was an in-person reunion, I'd excitedly run into the group hug, knock us all down, and turn it into a cuddle puddle!)

Pollo de Uruguay has turned his house upside down, hunting high and low, for the hand-written copy that he swore his grandma gave him of the recipe for primordial soup.

You may not know this depending how much board gaming you do: German designers have come up with scads of really excellent board games. One of them is called Ursuppe (leaving out the little accent marks over the "U" because I don't know how to make this keyboard do that), meaning (dun-dun) primordial soup. It's a fun little game of trying to grow your single cell organisms out of the primordial soup/slime/ooze/what have you.

Ooo darn. Now I've semi-committed to writing something . . . (I'll be back, eventually).

[beautifulsouth0]

HC was born with a "tail", a rare caudal appendage at the base of his spine made of keratin and an extra skin. In the small town in New Jersey where he was born, he became the legendary second incarnation of The Jersey Devil. As a toddler, however, his mother took him with her on a month long Peace Corps mission to bring wells to small, rural villages in India, and HC was revered as a God by the locals. To this day there are families in India with a photo of HC on their home altar/shrine, and they pray to him daily for good fortune.

[Knight of Ashes]

BS0 is one of that very, very rare breed of 21st century women that uses the expression "fiddle-dee-dee" with a straight face and no irony whatsoever.

[Adhara]

KoA is addicted to Pixie Stix.

There, I said it.

I was supposed to keep it under my whimple.

So, here I am,

in the middle of the night,

headed to, Ye Olde Friggin' Quik-mart.

He said something about being a rookie..

< snort>

er..I mean..

I'm happy to do what I can to earn a spot in rotation.

We're going to nationals!

[Ghost of Groat]

Adhara was sitting, composed in her drawing room after dinner. It was her tradition to have a time of solitude for digestion and reflection after the evening meal. Her seclusion was interrupted by the appearance of an apparition. From the Aether, a form took shape and resolved into the familiar visage of the Funky Phantom. Phantom should be familiar to Adhara being that she saw him every Saturday morning of her youth as she sat six inches from the TV pretending to eat her bowl of BooBerry cereal.

Phantom broke the silence saying, “Adhara! I’ve come to you this one time with important ne…”

“Sir!”, Adhara cut him off, “You forget yourself!”

“Ma’am?”, he said puzzled.

“How dare you enter the private chambers of a lady, unannounced!?, uninvited!? And you even had the very off-putting effrontery to address me, your social superior, by my given name though we’ve never been introduced!”, Adhara said standing.

“Please, Ma’am, forgive my impudence. I came only to try and warn you about an impending doom that…”, Phantom said as he was once again cut off mid-sentence.

“What’s this? ‘try and’? That’s not grammar. What do you mean?”, she queried.

“I’m sorry I don’t follow…”, Phantom said somewhat abashed.

“Sir, I must acquaint you with the infinitive verb form. I will give an example: If I were to say, that William ran and jumped then you should understand that William accomplished both running and jumping. Do you understand now that when you said, ‘try and warn’, that you were really saying that you came to accomplish the try and the warn? This is where the infinitive verb form of warn should be used. If your meaning was, in fact, to come here to attempt giving me a warning then you should have said, ‘I came only to try to warn…’, then your meaning would be clear. You see, Phantom, ‘to warn’, is the infinitive verb form.”, Adhara lectured.

“Ma’am I really need to tell you some important news.”, pleaded Phantom.

“Sir! Again you forget that we are not introduced. You cannot speak to me and I cannot hear you. If you have important news to share with me you simply must follow the social constructs. You must be introduced to me in society by someone with whom I am already acquainted then if you choose to call upon me at my home you simply must come at a Christian hour and present your card to my doorman. You will then wait in the antechamber. He will bring it to me on a salver and if I deem it proper to receive you I bid him to show you in.”, Adhara explained.

“I see now the gravity of my folly. Good day to you, Ma’am”, Phantom said bowing low.

“Good day to you, Sir”, replied Adhara

The visage of Funky Phantom faded once more into the Aether and Adhara returned to her quiet contemplations.

[beautifulsouth0]

You've heard of OCD, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, right? Well, Ghost of Groat has a similar, yet rarer, psychiatric problem, called ONCD, Obsessive Narcissistic Compulsive Disorder. It's difficult to simply define, but his actions exemplify the disorder. This morning he had what he considered to be a perfect bowel movement. He took a photo and posted it on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and Reddit. Then he told his reflection in the mirror about it, then his cat Mr. Wrinkles, then his potted bamboo plant, then his reflection, then the mailman who knocked on the door to deliver a package, then he texted everyone in his address book, then he told his reflection again, and now he's working on a billboard-sized banner he plans to hang between the front windows of his house. The banner says: "I had the most gorgeous poo today", and is illustrated, with a subscript that says "Come inside to see it!"

[Ghost of Groat]

@BSO bortaS bIr jablu'DI' reH QaQqu' nay'

In her 15th year, BS0 faced a defining choice: figure skates or hockey skates. She sashayed along in the never ending picnic that was her life always getting her way but this day she had to choose. Her mother wanted BS0 to continue her training for the Ice Capades. Her creepy uncle Ira wanted her to become the first woman to skate for the Red Wings. A fact that he reinforced by throwing a dead squid onto the ice whenever she scored a goal.

She took both pairs of skates down to the lake, alone. Lacing up the figure skates first then heading out to the center of the lake, BS0 make two perfect triple jumps in a row, a solchow, and an axle jump. The moves felt natural to her. Returning to shore, she swapped skates and took a puck and her Bobby Orr limited edition stick with her. She practiced dump and chase and pretended to cross check imaginary foes into the boards. Aiming carefully she sent a slapshot into the left boot of her figure skates and came once more to the shore to put on her shoes.

Looking up she saw her father staring at her with a stunned dropped jaw look.

“I know I went out alone and I’m not supposed to. But I had to make up my mind by myself!”, She explained.

Her father, shaking off his stunned appearance looked down at her and said, “It’s not that you came out here alone that bothers me. It’s just that well, most people only skate on the lake in Winter, when it’s frozen!”

[Batbob45]

Ghost of Groat escape the Ghostbuster

[beautifulsouth0]

Batbob45 is a graduate of the Baobob School of Intergalactic Communication, and therefore should be able to translate GoG's message to me above, which is apparantly in Huttese. Batbob45 can only read the language, however, but he cannot speak it, as his nasal structure and snot consistency is not correct to make all of the requisite sounds.

(eta- OK, need to 'splain something that tells you a lot about me, but when Groat said whatever he said to me up there, I was like "That sounds like Jabba the Hut language," and so I decided on this lie, which is well-researched, you will find. But now I'm stuck down the wiki-hole following link after link, delving deeper into Star Wars lore known and unknown, and it probably won't end til tonight's GoT episode)