Demonstone

I know who Gresham is, but who is Shari?

Couldn't coach. Couldn't sing.

I appreciate the invitation layzie, but I'm really not into that sort of thing.

I'm buoyed by the news of Brayshaw's re-signing and hope the players have had a similar boost. With no evidence at all to back me up, I just feel that a corner has been turned and we'll win tonight in the first step towards a strong finals run.

Also fondly known as The Tofu Curtain and The Quinoa Line!

You'll be thrilled to know that I still have the 7" single. It hasn't been near a turntable for some decades now.

He certainly was an individual!

Hopefully with as much energy as this Jacko!

https://www.theage.com.au/sport/afl/brayshaw-staying-with-demons-20220728-p5b5a6.html

In the meantime, let's all sprint slowly to the museum!

Where do you stand on this question?

Neck and neck, dc?

The same people complaining that the Gus contract was too long will complain that two years is not long enough.

Some people are never happy, are they? Onya Gus. May you play in many more premierships with the mighty Demons.

I think he's trying to suggest that your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. Either that, or his hovercraft is full of eels.

Snaffled! Thanks for the tip.

I've recently re-read all the "Yes Minister/Prime Minister" scripts and, although it sounds very much like something Sir Humphrey might say, the saying has been around for a lot longer than that. I can't take any credit for it.

I suspect you'd find that many, many Australians would quickly be able to name Alyssa Healy, Meg Lanning, Ellyse Perry and Sam Kerr for example among the current players and that's just for starters.

By the look of that footage, Rex was hoping to do some gardening, but was unable to as he'd lost the plot.

There are many grammatical ways to walk into a bar. An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television, getting drunk, and smoking cigars. A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly. A bar was walked into by the passive voice. An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening. Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.” A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite. Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything. A question mark walks into a bar? A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly. Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, “Get out — we don’t serve your type.” A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud. A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves. Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart. A synonym strolls into a tavern. At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar — fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack. A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment. Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor. A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered. An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles heel. The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known. A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned by a man with a glass eye named Ralph. The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense. A dyslexic walks into a bra. A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines. A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert. A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget. A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony.

Every "short" break must logically be balanced out by a "long" break over the course of a season. Players say that there is little difference between six and seven days rest, but supporters love to whinge about it.

Rick did say it on The Young Ones, but it's a very, very old gag.