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well, I guess you'll have to live as a deer or moosse werewolf for the rest of your life....

*grabs nicotine patch and sticks it on arm*

.:AAAAAAHHH!:.

*feels tusks that have grown from mouth*

"WTF?"

*Rips off patch, tusks fall out.*

"Hmm, Ivory, a couple for times and I'll be able to make a new keyboard for the piano. But they hurt like hell when they are growing. Hey Monty, Catch!"

*Throws Patch at Montana, catching her in the nose, where apon she grows a set of tusks to go with the antlers*

"Who made these patches?"

*Checks packet*

"The 'Impossible Creatures' Company? That explains it."

>.< *screams*

*pops hat back on a point and walks out the door*

Wolf: Hmm...coffee + entertainment. Do ya'll do impressions?

well, I NEVER THOUGTH IT ALL CAME FROM A LITTLE PATCH!!!!!!

,,

this story is just an introduction to this thread http://forum.werewolfcafe.com/viewtopic.php?id=2208 which will run idependantly of this one


Roadwolf and spacewolf were sitting in the café at a table munching on a pizza when roadwolves radio crackles to life “top dog to the Roadwolf, top dog to the Roadwolf come in pleaseâ€� Roadwolf then answers  “this is the Roadwolf , what’s up bossâ€� “yeah agent can you and spacewolf report to HQ , I have something important to speak to you aboutâ€� “yeah sure boss we’ll be there in a couple of hours, Roadwolf outâ€� “10/4 agent over and outâ€� after finishing their pizza  the boys climb in to roadies pickup and tear off to the sound of john Meyers “route 66â€� and the screaming of a two stroke Detroit. Arriving at HQ the boys park the truck and walk up to top dogs office. “Can I help youâ€� the secretary asked  “Roadwolf and spacewolf to see the bossâ€� “sure he’s been waiting for you, go on inâ€�.  Walking in to the office the boys sit down and wait for top dog to finish his phone call, after hanging up the phone he turns to the boys “ hey guys want a beerâ€� “sure bossâ€� the boys say as top dog hands em each a beer.  “so boss what did you want to see us aboutâ€� asks spacewolf settling back in his chair, “ yeah boys , I’ve been speaking with the other heads of howle and we have decided to form a second squad of RRTS agents to serve as a backup to you guys in case you are incapacitated or in deep shiteâ€� sounds like a good idea boss , who are you going to get to train this squadâ€� says roadie as he lights a smoke.  Top dog shoots the boys a cocky, smug look and the boys eyes go like dinner plates and their jaws hit the floor “you don’t mean usâ€� spacewolf squeaks in surprise  “ I sure do boys I want you to mould these recruits in to a efficient fighting unitâ€� roadwolves eyes start to glow with happiness and he beams a smile so wicked it could of come from Satan himself
“heres a list of the five recruits that have applied for trainingâ€� road and space peruse through the list muttering to themselves “ ok boss we’ll do itâ€�  excitedly the boss replies “ oh thanks guys , you wont regret this and as a added bonus you can take one of the recruits as an apprentice for you to train further and you guys can train the squad as you see fit, short of killing them of course, you two and you squad have been classified as trainers and can begin training the squad as soon as you are readyâ€� spacewolf interrupts “but boss we only have 4 members in the squadâ€� “I can answer that bossâ€� says Roadwolf “ we do have a fifth memberâ€� Roadwolf says as he nods toward his bossâ€� you mean him’ says top dog talking about roadwolves spirit form  “ yes sir , if you agree top me using him on the greenhorns’ “ you bet your ass I agree, I will even assign him a name and rank, from now on he shall be called major general J.T. Thunderclaw “ “thank you sir we will begin the training in two daysâ€� ‘ ok boys I will have the group assembled and they will meet you at the training facility, cya guys laterâ€� Roadwolf and spacewolf go back to the truck and with the scream of an air starter they drive back to prepare for the next few months of hell.

again i will still be in here too

Last edited by theroadwolf (2007-07-08 01:13:35)

*pops her antlered head in*

I'd be up for that - it really is a very long name

Howsabout 'Remus Lupin's Bar and Cafe'?

how about "THE FOUR PAW BAR AND GRILL"
ok back on topic

speaking to the band "ok guys  lets tone it down for a while id like do this one with mace ,ok"

mav :sure boss come on guys lets have a smoke

"ok mace just give me a low bass will ya"

mace ((in her deep old voice)ok hows this" playing a low riff

"thats good  ok lets do it"


"ok ladies and gentleweres  id like to slow it down for a while and play you a good old aussie bush ballad, now some of you may know it  its called "the man from snowy river"

(mace starts a low bass beat and roadie starts strumming)

THERE was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
    That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
    So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
    Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
    And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
    The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up—
    He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
    No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
    He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
    He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony—three parts thoroughbred at least—
    And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry—just the sort that won’t say die—
    There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
    And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
    And the old man said, “That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop—lad, you’d better stop away,
    Those hills are far too rough for such as you.â€�
So he waited sad and wistful—only Clancy stood his friend —
    “I think we ought to let him come,â€� he said;
“I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
    For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
  Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
    The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
    Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
    But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.â€�

So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa clump —
    They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, ‘Boys, go at them from the jump,
    No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
    Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
    If once they gain the shelter of those hills.’

So Clancy rode to wheel them—he was racing on the wing
    Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
    With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
    But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
    And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
    Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
    From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
    Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day,
    No man can hold them down the other side.â€�

When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
    It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
    Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
    And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
    While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
    He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat—
    It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
    Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
    At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
    And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
    As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
    In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
    With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
    He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
    And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
    He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
    For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
    Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
    At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
    To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
    And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
    And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
    And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

i have a few others but im trying to find lyrics for em