The Ravages of Time

Oh my dearest Christi, how you hurt us!
A game does die when it is over and done.
Or minds are most ephemeral, gone is
exactly what happened so many days ago.
Now we are left with so much less than proof.
Only our fickle memories remain.



Of those we have a few brought to record:

Justin:
"Croquet? I thought we were doing Shakespeare?"

Scott:
"Did I even play the last game?"

MacDonald:
"UGH!!! FSCKING WICKETT!!!"

Christi:
"the day was like that of an arctic summer; lazy, yet windy, with the fierceness of a grandma unresigned to the idea of watching "Wheel" one more evening with her incontinent roommate, Gertrude"

"after blowing the miniscule shot twice to triumph at the end of the course, she was spared by the gods on the third attempt to strike at the orb with deft accurracy; using her mallet of taped justice, to finally become poison, and strike fear into the hearts of few"

Matt:
"I hate Chris"

Bevington:
"Listen to my words of croquet advice, they can only help you........and me."

Roarke"
"All in the Lynch family are happy that outsiders were not allowed victory"