Scrambled Storytime

If you aren't familiar with Twisted Linguistics, it's a "feature" I do on my personal blog. They are, in a word, bloopers -- misspelled or misused (and abused) words found on various Web sites. I call them Words Gone Wild. They're real words, or at least they were really used somewhere. You can't make this stuff up. Sometimes I define them, sometimes I leave them to my readers to define, and sometimes I tell stories with them. Today I'm in a story-telling mood, but I think I'll do it a little differently. I'm going to attempt to define them and let the definitions tell the story.

Right off the bat with this particular batch of bad words, I noticed a warped gestalt taking shape before my eyes; i.e., these words seem to have some loose connection to each other. They almost seem inter-related, if not outright inbred.

The words (in red) with which we'll try to construct our little demonstration are:

well writtern - If I'm going to go where I intend to go with this, I will require a main character. And voilà, I give you Writ Tern, a hawk-nosed man who seems perfect for the role of medieval Idiomatic Inquisitor.

evidience - n. Or, in this case, a ReNoun. The evidience of deviance is what Writ Tern will rely on in persecuting a neighboring

compund (n., meaning an enclave of like-minded individuals) for the crime of

heresay that the

researech indicated was going on in the compund. It was certainly

an possibility, never mind that the reports were flawed and the rumors

niave.

In any event, based on what intelligence he had, Writ Tern called upon his band of lesser Idiom Inquisitors and raised a delegation to travel through the mountains and over the pund to the evil compund so full of

calamnity (a renoun that has been verbinated to mean a disastrous place of fraud and deception). Writ said to his men (for there were no lady Inquisitors),

"Let's all ban together!"

"Let's stamp out and banish that den of iniquity. And

if you're not conveniable to that, your brethren will have to

descrine you."

And so they put on their

contract breeches (n. amplified by an adjective), which were the ceremonial pants worn to negotiate agreements, and set out for the compund.

When they arrived, they were horrified to find the compund inhabitants

poping magic pills (verb, adjective, renoun), which were parochial medicines with miraculous properties, and

peddaling their books, which were happy-happy how-to books the

peopel sold on foot and from the baskets of their bicycles so all compunders everywhere could be joyful and free.

Writ Tern was particularly enraged by the buxom lass with reddened eyes who said

"I've been balling my eyes out." She was the first of the peopel he sent to the rack.

He was also highly offended when he asked a man in a tall white hat what he was doing with the pot.

"Why, just beef strokenoff," the man replied with a goofy grin.

"In public?!" Writ Tern demanded. "Here's another

bi-product of a free and loose society. Put him in the Iron Maiden."

Well, the Compunders weren't about to stand still for such nonsense and rallied to drive the Idiom Inquisition from their land pronto. Armed with jokes and laughter and light-hearted banter, they forced the invaders to turn tail and run for the border, vanquishing the poker-faced invaders forever. They took one of the Iron Maidens left behind by the fleeing Idiomaniacs and turned it into a scrine which they installed in the niave of the local church. Many eons later, it evolved into a heavy metal band.