micko's fascination with this topic would seem to indicate a lack of shaggy activity at the burrow, would it not? nevertheless, i applaud his filthy little mind for its commendable focus, if nothing else.

as pour moi, it was in the French Riviera in the early 80's. we were flush with our gambling winnings, sipping Bollinger out of fine flutes, enjoying the full moon from the balcony before being called back inside by all the din; the lingerie show had apparently begun, with dressers pushed together to form a runway. later, in the midst of all the backroom groping, i frankly lost track of whether it was Raquelle or Sophia who deflowered me so magnificently. some say it was Princess Stephanie herself, but no matter; by all accounts i absolutely destroyed the poor woman. a bronzed replica of the murder weapon was cast and remains on the mantel above the fireplace in the VIP room, where pilgrimages are made yearly in hopes of some pixie fertility dust magically rubbing off on the fortunate devotee. speaking of rubbing off, mick, i suggest you make the trek.