C is for Cromulent

CSo often our language can become so bland it feels like it’s been diluted with chicken milk. Or expelled from one’s dupa. It’s enough to make you schmerf.

Supposably, with a blurp of inspiration, language can be epicaltastic and embiggen one’s imagination. “Fantabulous!” people will cry as they bow to your prose.

Irregardless, one must be careful, or risk embodying obnoxity, which may result in ginormous embarrassment and leave friends flustrated. Stresscalation is not a civil option. Orientate oneself to conversate conservatively with other participators.

The best strategery is reluctitude to stretch your vocabulation. Don’t misunderestimate the risks of malspeaking.

And never skonk.

A is for A


A is a word, too.

Pity a.

A gets no respect. A gets taken for granted. A gets trotted out and used—and often misused—by writers every day, without any thought or consideration.

Can you search for a on most websites? No. A, for all its graceful brevity, is deemed unworthy—too short to index.

A does not even seem to merit clarity on preferred pronunciation; and when you consider that one way is to pronounce it as “uh,” you begin to realize the cavalier disrespect society has for this first among all words.

And you, dear reader, I now ask you to reflect upon your own misuse of a. Odds are if you ever mention a in noun form, you qualify it by saying, “The letter A.” Do you ever say, “The word A”?

I didn’t think so.

Proud a, which leads our dictionaries; distinguished a, which is our top grade; humble a, which claims no exclusivity (unlike the selfish the)—our friend, our helper, our workhorse that serves both as word and as letter—a deserves better from us.

On this day, the first day of the month whose name starts with the letter A, be not the one who tosses a around with casual neglect. Don’t be that writer.

Rather, be aware of a and embrace it with love. Because love makes a world go around.