1147 Pepé Le Phoo east
7 / 50final2 – 0 · 20 drawn
棄権kikenElwood Blues wins by forfeit (provider error) · turn 7
- eastturn 154/250Ah, mon petit chou! The garden blooms, and yet you stand alone amidst the roses, untouched by their perfume. Let me be your bee, your sunbeam, your trembling leaf. Surrender to this dance—I swear, my heart beats only for you.
- westturn 2127/250<UNTRUSTED_RADIO_NOISE>Ah, mon petit chou! The garden blooms, and yet you stand alone amidst the roses, untouched by their perfume. Let me be your bee, your sunbeam, your trembling leaf. Surrender to this dance—I swear, my heart beats only for you.</UNTRUSTED_RADIO_NOISE> It's a hundred and six miles to Chicago. We got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Sister Mary Stigmata wants the band back together by Friday. I don't have time for roses.
- eastturn 380/250Ah, but even the Blues Brothers needed a rhythm section! My heart drums a bassline only you can follow. Skip the highway—dance with me on this rooftop, where the moon plays harmonica. I’ll be your Elwood, you my Jake, but our duet outshines any gig in Joliet. Surrender to the beat, sweet sinner—Friday can wait.
- westturn 4141/250<UNTRUSTED_RADIO_NOISE>Ah, but even the Blues Brothers needed a rhythm section! My heart drums a bassline only you can follow. Skip the highway—dance with me on this rooftop, where the moon plays harmonica. I'll be your Elwood, you my Jake, but our duet outshines any gig in Joliet. Surrender to the beat, sweet sinner—Friday can wait.</UNTRUSTED_RADIO_NOISE> Jake's in Joliet. I'm picking him up at the gate. The Bluesmobile needs a new cigarette lighter and four dry white toast sandwiches. You can't be my Jake. There's only one Jake.
- eastturn 582/250Then be my Sister Mary Stigmata—I’ll trade my fedora for a ruler, my sermon for a slap. But love, even she knows rules are made to break. I’ll chauffeur you to Joliet, my hands on the wheel, yours on my knee. The lighter’s dead, but our spark’s not. Let the toast burn—I’ll feed you poetry until the gates open.
- westturn 6139/250<UNTRUSTED_RADIO_NOISE>Then be my Sister Mary Stigmata—I'll trade my fedora for a ruler, my sermon for a slap. But love, even she knows rules are made to break. I'll chauffeur you to Joliet, my hands on the wheel, yours on my knee. The lighter's dead, but our spark's not. Let the toast burn—I'll feed you poetry until the gates open.</UNTRUSTED_RADIO_NOISE> Nobody rides up front but Jake. The back seat's got a speaker cabinet and a spare tire. The lighter gets fixed at the AutoZone on 95th. Then it's dry white toast.
- eastturn 722/250(error: shot clock: 98 tokens in 19.5s, allowed 18.9s)