Thursday, April 9, 2015

Gripped By The Wriggleworthiness Of A Confirmed Whoopsterpoopster

    I am gripped by the wriggleworthiness of a confirmed whoopsterpoopster.


    Ok, let’s analyse that baybay.

    ‘I’, I hope you all get, because that’s basics, and ‘am’ follows on from there unless you think too hard about it — so what are we all to do with ‘wriggleworthiness’?

    That’s where the problems begin.


    According to Mirriam Webster, wriggleworthiness is a word that ought to feature prominently in the final furlong of the Oxford English Dictionary — only it doesn’t.

    Seems it slipped out through the appendix like an weirdsy escapologist who ducked out of the whole escape from the bowels of an elephant deal by creeping back up the pipe and taking a wrong turning somewhere close to the navel.

    Whichever way you look at it, this wriggliworthiness signifies escape.

    Only the wriggleworthy can wriggle free of anything.

    They are eels amongst men, oiled kickboxers amongst eels.

    So, where are we up to?

    My desire to escape?

    Because I’m so gripped by my own wriggleworthiness that I’ve passed over ‘gripped’ like it wasn’t even there?

    Something is amiss.

    Something is surely amiss.

    And that’s before we get anywhere near figuring out what a whoopsterpoopster is, confirmed or no...

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