Friday, July 13, 2007


Eggcorns are mismatched wordy phrase bones that make a kind of warped sense.

I have an acquaintance who is a a passed master at these, see:

  • It's not rocket salad
  • It's like treading on eggboxes
  • It's like a ghost train in here
  • He's like a bulldog in a Chinese shop
  • Don't shoot the massager
  • Rake hay while the sun shines
  • Many a twix between cup and lip

But his piece of resistance was a speech he gave at a friend's wedding. I can only remember bits (I was a nearly full glass of water at the time: slightly drunk), but it went something like this:

Stood leavening, rabies and Bethlehem,

Unaccustomed as my ham, it is with straight measure that I strand beer too gay.

I have blown the pride and broom mince I was a tall coy, and I chav to pray I clever snort I stood me branding steer, sneeking to hutch a fig blathering of all their trends and camel pee...

and so on until he rounded off with...

So, trends, lotions and monkey men, I seive you a boast: to the snappy cuddle, and let's rope it's not too wrong before we near the shatter of spiny tweet

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