Well, it had to be done, didn't it? And since this is both the first and last post, I have won. Thank you all.
Speaking antidisestablimenarianismistically, I can not be beaten. I have "winner" stamped in my fate. And here I am - the winner!
Erm, sorry, can't see any winners in your corner.
That's because you are on a lower level. Look up, my little friend. Let my success dazzle your eyes!
Nope. Still can't see any winners your end.
My end is not my best feature. The rest of me is a champion.
I couldn't possibly comment on your first sentence. But I'm the winner.
Winners are not always winners, but the last shall be first, and I have planted the flag of victory on this mountain of endedness.
That sounds decidedly painful. And all to no avail - I'm the winner!
The only pain is the pain of your acceptance that you have lost. I hear the mournful cries from afar. Be comforted that you have basked in my glory for a time. Now, where did you put the cake and bunting?
As the winner, I have the cake and bunting. Needless to say.
"Needless to say...it is all for you now that you have taken first place and can I get you a cuppa, your honour?" I'm certain that was what you meant to say, and than you. Soy milk and two, please.
Soy milk?!!? No winner takes tea with soy milk! I'll stay in the winning place and have a nice traditional cuppa, thanks. Oh, pass the ginger biscuits, please.
*burp* What ginger biscuits? I see no ginger biscuits. Nope. Antipodean winners take tea any way they darn well want an' they have the bruises to prove it. So do their vic - er - their competitors.
No ginger biscuits??!! That's outrageous!! Fortunately I am gracious in my victory.
Outrage follows the footsteps of the daring. I dared to eat the biscuits - Yes! I proudly admit it now! - and outrage followed. It's jealousy, of course. Jealous of my daring. Jealous of my biscuit-fuelled obesity. Jealous that I am once more on the pinnacle of winningdom.
Alas, the pinnacle of biscuit winningdom is quickly followed by the cold light of diet day. Ah well, whilst you're getting back in trim, I'll continue to rejoice in being the winner.
Rejoice no more, skinny little moth! Gargantua comes striding in, shaking the earth, and grabs the prize back. The cold light of day made it easy to see above the rolls of fat.
Sounds horrifying! Fortunately you grabbed the full-size replica of the Prize. The real one is safely and secretly hidden away with me.
I do know a proctologist.
Don't worry, the Prize doesn't need one.
I was referring to extraction from its hiding place, but if you insist...
That's ridiculous. There's no way a proctologist could get into a safe deposit box. Now I've had to move the Prize somewhere else.