Happenstance to illuminate a vernacular with archaic lexification is so quaint

(IN A SUFFERABLY ENGLISH MANNER, OF COURSE)

I am perceived as a wordmonger

For the phlegmatic, autocratic, I hunger

In as mellifluous tone

Onwards I drone

Because I don't get any younger

I can even be tiresomely described as a verbiator, which sounds like a Prodigy song:

I'm a verbiator, twisted lexicator, yeah

I'm a word-addicted, twisted educator

lexicate the verbiator, twisted verbiator

"Don'na du Anglish, as wurds as bad fur us all as it twists ur littal mindz rund and rund…"

Good morning one and all and welcome to the cheap seats where you have the wet and wild view of a man so lacking of a coherent thought it is like watching an epileptic disphasic during an acid flashback. So, and anyway, what's it all about Alfie? Not a lot really, in a weird mood and just wanted to jot some stuff that randomly floated into my mind.

Insane in the mainframe, a written spew of dialogue and paraphrase that is vaguely edited or maybe that should be remotely edited by a bloke called Bob from the little town of Swiftpiddle-on-the-Marsh.

"I clear my mind of the random crap that is floating below the level of consciousness so that I can amuse you for a brief moment, a passing minute of your time."

"Really?"

"Yes, for there is a belief that if we empty the consciousness of clutter we can access the pure reasoning that floats like a three week dead sturgeon in the depths of our subconscious."

"Float in the depths? Really, that's a nice mixture of imagery."

"I'm glad you think so."

"So, are these icy-depths?"

"No, I wouldn't have thought so, icy depths cannot quite describe the bleak blackness of inner space one achieves in the vast reaches of the abyss."

-Finis-

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