Less Guns, More Punching !

I want to implement a game at work called "Slaps."

The rules are that, once a year you can slap anyone you want without punishment. I'm talking a real high five to the face.

... but if you get 3 slaps in the same year, you have to quit because you're a cunt and no one likes you.

Slaps don't roll over. This isn't vacation time, folks, you have to use it or lose it.

It hasn't been approved yet, but I'm not giving up.
 
The 2nd Amendment give the right to bear arms, not bare knuckles!

The 2nd amendment makes you a bunch of überacting paranoid shoot-first-ask-questions-later tizzycowards.

It's soooo much cooler to be shot than to be slapped by a baby...American Fondling™....
 
The 2nd amendment makes you a bunch of überacting paranoid shoot-first-ask-questions-later tizzycowards.
The correct word here is conservatard.
Right wing nut job would also be acceptable, as would any of the GB's own rwnj's by name.
 
The correct word here is conservatard.
Right wing nut job would also be acceptable, as would any of the GB's own rwnj's by name.

I want you to know that, having replaced all my blood with alcohol, I am unable to contain the glee that the word "conservatard" brought me. I also can't stop speaking like a Victorian nobleman. I've no idea why.
 
I want you to know that, having replaced all my blood with alcohol, I am unable to contain the glee that the word "conservatard" brought me. I also can't stop speaking like a Victorian nobleman. I've no idea why.

No problem, as long as you don't shoot nobody.
 
I want you to know that, having replaced all my blood with alcohol, I am unable to contain the glee that the word "conservatard" brought me. I also can't stop speaking like a Victorian nobleman. I've no idea why.

Glad I could provide you with some amusement. I do feel obliged to point out, however, that the word is not of my own devising.
Feel free to use it for your own pleasure, with my compliments.
 
I chuckle at the thought of any of our aging chronically dyspeptic Marines (AJ, Vetteman and/or Miles) trying to throw a punch.
 
I also can't stop speaking like a Victorian nobleman. I've no idea why.

Come over to the dark side, Candi. Here are velvet jackets and silken cuffs, golden chaises and crystal decanters filled with the loveliest liqueurs devised by humanity. Here, the scented woodsmoke entrances the air, and the firelight lacquers the wooden floors with the glow of ancient suns. The clock ticks its sonorous way, but time slows here, like a fly in amber, and the years are at our disposal.
 
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