Tag Archives: word play

Cartooney Paffooney

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A particularly pulse-pounding part of a post-able Paffooney is the Looney-Tooney side of cartoonies.

A good Paffooney, a wise Paffooney, a particularly Buffooney Paffooney…

Requires a certain something… an attention to detail

Scraggles here demonstrably demonsters, er demonstrates, the detail in the devil, er, devil in the details…

With inexplicable and despicable gloves on hands we never see…

And Looney eyes that at once appear wise and simultaneously devise the kind of satirical reprise that can surprise and infinitely infantilize…

He’s sorta creepy with eyes that aren’t sleepy and expressions not so deepy…

And his smile will spread a mile and is also infantile…

And the rat that he has caught has a shape that’s overwrought and full of little thought,

But never will he kill it and fill it full of millet, 

Cause a mouse can be a friend to the bitter better end.

And so this poem don’t rhyme… or does it?  And it has no theme or prime… or was it?

Just silly nonsense words on a canvas all unfurled in Paffooney Looney Language with each sentence stitched and curled.

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“Dad?” asked the Princess, “I heard a funny word in school today.  What does Fuddy-Duddy mean?”

“Oh, that’s a good word,” I said.  “It means an old fogey… a stick-in-the-mud.”

“A what?”

“A fussy old guy who likes to have everything his way.  Like, if you accuse your father of being one… which you often do… he’s a fuddy-duddy daddy.”

“Ooh!  I get it!” said Henry, chiming in.  “And if your father is evil, then he’s a fuddy-duddy baddie daddy!

“Yes,” I said, “and if it makes him sad to be evil, he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie daddy!

“If you are not sure he’s really your father,” said the Princess adding a one-up, “he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe daddy!

“Yeah!” said Henry.  “And if you suspect he may have fallen into a time machine and been turned back into an infant, he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe baby daddy!

“Now that he’s a baby again he will surely want to watch his favorite TV show again,” I said with a tear of nostalgia in my eye, “he’ll be a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe baby Howdy Doody daddy!

“What’s Howdy Doody, Daddy?” asked the Princess.

“No,” said Henry, “now you’ve spoiled it.  It just ain’t funny any more.”

“Yes it is!  He’s become a funny bunny fuddy-duddy hoo-dad doo-dad saddie baddie maybe rabies hoo-dah doo-dah…”

“Just stop,” said Henry.  “You always carry things too far.”

“Right you are!” I said.  “See this grin?  It means I win!”

“AW, Daaad!” they both said at the same time.

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Kerpopple That Dinglebunny!

I have always loved using weird, wild, and goofy words to describe things when I am trying to be funny.  But recently I was saddened to learn that a word I have liked using in the past, “dingleberry”, is actually a poo-poo word.  I am very much on the Red Skelton side of the question of using bad words.   I mean, I don’t find direct use of obscene language and harsh Anglo-Saxon swear words to be very funny.  Shock humor and gross-out humor do not appeal to me the way more whimsical word-play does.

Betelgeuse is a funny word because it is the name of an actual red-giant Star in the Milky Way Galaxy, while at the same time sounding like juice made from beetles.  And, of course, there is the little matter of a hilarious Tim Burton movie about a gross-out ghost with an evil agenda.  The parts of a word can make or break the comic gravity of the word.  As much as I previously liked “dingleberry” as a goofy insult word, the “dingle” part is giving me pause.  I have discovered that a “dingle” is not only the v-cleft in a valley between two mountains, it is also derived from “dung”.   A “dingleberry” describes a dangling “berry” of poop like the ones sometimes found on the fur of my dog’s behind.  Yetch!  I can’t even use a label like that on a detestable buffoon like Donald Trump.  It bothers me that it suggests the color brown rather than the proper orange.  Trump requires a word that translates to something more like “flaming orange Kool-aid man”.

hkam

So, I guess I need to focus on other weird, wild, and goofy words as I continue to try to be funny.  The dinglebunnies of my comic fantasies need to be “kerpoppled”… the act of “poppling”, to move in a tumbling, irregular manner, as in boiling water.  Do away with poo-poo humor, Mickey, old lad!  You need some new goofy words.

 

 

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fuddy duddy

“Dad?” asked the Princess, “I heard a funny word in school today.  What does Fuddy-Duddy mean?”

“Oh, that’s a good word,” I said.  “It means an old fogey… a stick-in-the-mud.”

“A what?”

“A fussy old guy who likes to have everything his way.  Like, if you accuse your father of being one… which you often do… he’s a fuddy-duddy daddy.”

“Ooh!  I get it!” said Henry, chiming in.  “And if your father is evil, then he’s a fuddy-duddy baddie daddy!

“Yes,” I said, “and if it makes him sad to be evil, he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie daddy!

“If you are not sure he’s really your father,” said the Princess adding a one-up, “he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe daddy!

“Yeah!” said Henry.  “And if you suspect he may have fallen into a time machine and been turned back into an infant, he’s a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe baby daddy!

“Now that he’s a baby again he will surely want to watch his favorite TV show again,” I said with a tear of nostalgia in my eye, “he’ll be a fuddy-duddy saddie baddie maybe baby Howdy Doody daddy!

“What’s Howdy Doody, Daddy?” asked the Princess.

“No,” said Henry, “now you’ve spoiled it.  It just ain’t funny any more.”

“Yes it is!  He’s become a funny bunny fuddy-duddy hoo-dad doo-dad saddie baddie maybe rabies hoo-dah doo-dah…”

“Just stop,” said Henry.  “You always carry things too far.”

“Right you are!” I said.  “See this grin?  It means I win!”

“AW, Daaad!” they both said at the same time.

 

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Excessive Ellipsis

  1. Ellipsis (plural ellipses; from the Ancient Greek: ἔλλειψις, élleipsis, “omission” or “falling short”) is a series of dots that usually indicates an intentional omission of a word, sentence, or whole section from a text without altering its original meaning.

Here is a thing that can drive editors crazy… as well as other English teachers like my wife… when they read my… you know, purple paisley prose.  I can be way too generous with the dot dot dot.  And why do I do such a silly… silly thing?  The left-out word… the pregnant pause… the idea that something more is there when it really isn’t… something left un-said.

Catbird Me 2

I know you can indicate a pause in prose with a simple comma.  I know that the comma is proper, respectable, more suitable for the task.  But I feel the need to put really long pauses in my writing…  Sometimes the most important things that we say are what we don’t say.  Let me give you an example from Snow Babies.  Here’s the set-up and context that is needed to understand this scene.  During the middle of a killer blizzard Valerie Clarke is having a tough time.  Her father killed himself the year before.  Her mother became seriously ill as the storm started.  Townspeople have come to help and support her, but she is afraid of losing the people she depends on.  Then the local deputy brings two runaway orphan boys that were stranded in her little Iowa town by the blizzard and asks if the Clarkes can take them in where there is a fireplace and a decent chance at staying warm…

“What do you think, Princess?” Catbird said to Valerie.  “Can we keep them?”

Officer Baily stood in the entryway with the two snow-spattered boys.  Catbird was asking Valerie to decide because her mom, packed away under blankets by the fire, was either asleep or unconscious.  It made Valerie shiver all the way down to her toes because Catbird was asking in the same way that Kyle Clarke had asked so many times when Val was small.  Did he know he made her daddy’s voice echo in this house?  A house he had never really been in?

“We have no heat and not much to help them with,” offered stalwart Sue.  “We’ll abide by your wishes, dear, as the mistress of the house, but they can go somewhere else to stay.  Your poor mother is very sick.”

Valerie stared at the boy Tommy.  He was fascinating.  His eyes bored into her with something like raw emotion.  Did he despise her?  Did he like her?  Did he maybe even like like her?

“I-I think I want to let them say tear… Oh!  I mean stay here!  Will you guys, um… um… stay here?”

For the first time the dark clouds of Tommy’s glare broke.  A ray of light from a smile few ever saw from the boy, split the darkest night of Valerie’s young life.  Not that the night when her father… wasn’t…  That was dark too.  But this night, in the cold and the snow, she stood to lose her mother, and she stood to lose Pidney.  The darkness had taken hold of her more than she could ever know until that smile… that wonderful smile… that smile coming from a steely-eyed face that only ever knew frowns…  What was she thinking about?  Even her thoughts were stuttering with fright at the moment.

“We want to stay here,” said Dennis, intently studying Tommy’s face, “if you’ll let us.  I don’t think Tommy’s ever seen such a pretty girl.”

“Shut up, Denny,” Tommy said through gritted teeth.

“Really,” said Denny, grinning, “I bet Tommy’d even volunteer to sleep in the same bed with you!”

Tommy whacked the littler boy on the crown of his snow-sprinkled head.  Tommy’s face was bright red.

tree time

It is necessary to realize that some of the most important things that are said are the things not actually said.  I know that is an oxymoron of the worst sort, but what can I say…?  I really do plan it that way   I don’t spot-up the page with ellipsis just because…  and I’m not crazy, either… well, not completely crazy… hopefully.

Walt Whitman... just for comparison. from poetryfoundation.org

Walt Whitman… just for comparison.
from poetryfoundation.org

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Filed under humor, NOVEL WRITING, wordplay

Cartooney Paffooney

Image

 

A particularly pulse-pounding part of a post-able Paffooney is the Looney-Tooney side of cartoonies.

A good Paffooney, a wise Paffooney, a particularly Buffooney Paffooney…

Requires a certain something… an attention to detail

Scraggles here demonstrably demonsters, er demonstrates, the detail in the devil, er, devil in the details…

With inexplicable and despicable gloves on hands we never see…

And Looney eyes that at once appear wise and simultaneously devise the kind of satirical reprise that can surprise and infinitely infantilize…

He’s sorta creepy with eyes that aren’t sleepy and expressions not so deepy…

And his smile will spread a mile and is also infantile…

And the rat that he has caught has a shape that’s overwrought and full of little thought,

But never will he kill it and fill it full of millet, 

Cause a mouse can be a friend to the bitter better end.

And so this poem don’t rhyme… or does it?  And it has no theme or prime… or was it?

Just silly nonsense words on a canvas all unfurled in Paffooney Looney Language with each sentence stitched and curled.

Leave a comment

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