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expression, or drop us into the inky pool of twinkling gypsy thieves jargon, or even invent for our punishment an international crook-word-code like the one uncovered in Brazil. The air about me becomes hazily thick with ,,“finifs"”, ,,“swell-mobs"”, ,,“gaycats"s”, and raucous uncouth racketeerings. I am stifflicated. Gagged by bushbeating wild word hunters, bound by a m b a g e s and bombastically flung into the see-thing alphabet soup.

I, who take my alphabet soup clear, daintily sipping it from the edge of the moon.

I, who had enough of Melanguages back in Milwaukee when I was a bleating kid.

Der cow hat over
Der fence gejumped
Und der cabbages
Goddamaged.

What is that alongside of the Halstead Street American lyrical purist speech of that pailer (ref. The unforgettable “Pail Period” in the U.S.A.) mauver, less decayed period (British: full stop)..:

Up through the alley
And over the fence
I got the can
Who’s got ten cents?

When I see words abused I volunteer, swear in instantly as an enforcement officer of the S. P. C. W. My word-sense shudders like a kicked sensitive plant at the sickening sight of over-

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worded loads struggling up slippery verbiaged hills. I quiver when their brave bandy-worded little furry legs tremble. I’m afraid they’ll slip back and suffocate in the green-whiskered Pond of Ezrasperanto Despond.

If it comes to words my heart is very tendrily. I cannot even bear to see them eaten. I weep long-bearded trickles from oystery eyes and turn from the slobbery sight as Lewis Carrol did and must do today over and over in his brillig grave.

As volunteer enforcement officer of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Words I arrest all word-offenders and pretenders. I firmly ask the lowing carnivorous judge to give them sixty days and seventy lashes with the dipthongs.

The Bible was once called the Word, and somehow I can’t come to care how much the evolutionists monkey with that. But when it comes to regular human seven-day-a-week uninspired words I find myself of two minds and both of them lipstickily made up.

My answer to a Revolution of the Word is emphatically Yes to the No, No to the Yes, a determined Yezno — — — Oyez, Oyez, Oyez — — — Noyez.

The world is again threatened by an Uncivil War, already it is breaking up into small exclusive modern Browning Societies, word-diggers, mutual sentence — (back and elsewhere) ­-- scratching cooteries. It isn’t so much Browning who’s to be feared, but the little Brownies who follow each other and yourself around.

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Wasteful war! The words that will be spilt! And these mad revolutionists mean business, for several years they have been snooping around decapitalizing the whole vocabulary, lowering its case.

Oh, the words that will be spoilt: German sausage-word atrocities. I quiver-shiver. I rake-shake. Think of all those happy playful lisping harebell-lipped Mother-tonguetied words dragged down by leech-sucking Revolutionary Redundunces tugging at their tender-tipped dugs. I shudder at the thought-sight of it. Words orphaned, siamese-twined ones torn apart and thrown to grinning Siamese cats.

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Source:  OpenStax, The readies. OpenStax CNX. Aug 21, 2009 Download for free at http://cnx.org/content/col10962/1.1
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