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Consumption Malfunction - reader's indigestion

A word has no inherent meaning other than that which we attribute to it. If words were truth, a dog would be dog wherever you were. That a dog is not a dog in all parts of the globe speaks volumes for where the truth lies. A dog is a living panting thing, like a chair is a dead sitting thing. Chair means dog, if you and me understand that it does. It means nothing at all if there is no understanding. If you don't understand me, it's hadly my fault, now is it?

Chair, by that I mean dog, becomes a choir, if you understand that an A is more or less an O (both being vowelly flexible in their essential openness as sounds). "Ch" sounding like it should in the former and like a "Q" in the latter. How's that for logic! The letters that words are composed of having no direct relation to the sounds that they relate to. The sound of an A looks nothing like an A but is of course best represented as belonging to the mouth (not tongue) that forms the sound.

A wee slip of the tongue can turn any one word to another and any one word can be turned to a neighbour and become that neighbour. By that, every word is but a poor representation of another. A letter being only an actor for a real sound. A word being only an actor for a real thing. If it sounds like nonsense to you, then join the chew. In all this it's not drawing a long one to say that there is nothing we don't have a word for. Even nothing has a word: nothing. Even though nothing doesn't exist. Nothing isn't real. It's nowhere to be found.

Words and letters are tools. Absolute tools! It's not a stench to say that the way an animal uses body language and sounds to communicate is the same as us. That stinks! They form a shape with their body: a word, and match it with a sound: language, to get a root and a feed or to save their skin. They form sentences in the shape of groups for survival. Or is that the other way around? I have to talk my chair for a walk, so it's goodbye from me and it's goodbye from you. Goodbye :~)

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Embittered boggler Norm has spoken up about the looming crisis farcing the anklish languages in the wake of the dearth of indecent waiters.

"I'm a real nut-picker when it comes to waiters dotting their toes and crossing their eyes," the cross-eyed madman told his anal cyst.

Sporting pink-painted toenails and noticeably looking at the pong of his nose, Norm insists he's not a crass-drosser.

"Writhing should be fun," he noted as he removed a pencil from his pancreas.

"Not something that causes pride in simpering correctness," he scolded as he dropped a kettle over his head.

The battle for the right to righteousness is set to snail on.

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