Tuesday, September 20, 2005

If you behave, there will be cake for the miscreants we call your brothers

Because I can my brain is operating on low battery today, I decided to let someone else write for me—ye olde Surrealist Compliment Generator. I decided to compose a love letter using the SCG’s suggestions. Please, feel free to use it to woo the mate of your choice.

Madam, what a handsome moustache you wear! Woods nymphs sprinkle your path with bowling balls while you dance and prowl in the sequined moonlight with leftover heads of lettuce. Your intelligence is equal to the smoothness of a walnut shell.

Be still, my love, my watermelon rind. I am consumed with your collection of agile fans and pocked blades. Your legs are like threads of cotton, though much thicker, and filled with weevils [that’s one of my personal favorites]. Your nasal hair speaks volumes concerning the Isle of Wright.

Onerous congratulations on your conceptual development of obliteration concerning telephones, lobsters and fish! The phase of your hallucinations reminds me of those balmy days when the championship mould was breeding, when the fish were long, and so were the valued floats of men we drank through narrow straws...

Bleed me! My memory is fried with your pork! Suffer, for you are toasting the Marzipan!.. (..and may I upon pretense ring latent tintinabulations for your Andalusian raisins!)

You are the swordfish that will never shower [another family favorite].

Love,
[insert your name here]

For extra fun, I decided to bring back the fun we had with translating. I translated the above into German, and then into French and then back into English. Just when you thought it could not get any stranger:

woman, the EC what imposing Moustache to carry you! Of Holznymphen sprinkle your manner with of Bowlingspielkugeln, while you dance and of Prowl in Moonlight with the other heads of salad of head sequined. Your intelligence is even with the regularity of a higher part.

If you are nor, my loves, my bovine of watermelon. I am used with your accumulation of mobile ventilators and sheets pocked. Your legs are like wire of the cotton, although much more strongly, and filled with beetles of trunk. Your hair nasal speaks the expenditure are the island of Wright.

The telephones, Hummer is importunate congratulations on your development of concept obliteration and the fish! * it it phase with your Hallucinations to point out to me this balmy day, when it forms it to raise, when the long fish and thus to evaluate it and to move them of the man, that us by narrow Strohe... to drink

purge me! My memory is roast with your pigmeat! suffer, because you roast Marzipan!.. * (..a. to be able I after latent tintinabulations pretenseringes for your Andalusian Rosinen!)

They are the fish of sword which never shower [that one is actually pretty close!].

6 comments:

Amstaff Mom said...

OH MY GOODNESS. Where do I begin??

Favorites:

Bleed me! My memory is fried with your pork!

You are the swordfish that will never shower

If you are nor, my loves, my bovine of watermelon.

I am used with your accumulation of mobile ventilators. (hate it when this happens)

Your hair nasal

My memory is roast with your pigmeat!

zmypzxe

Lia said...

Too funny!

Your hilarity-causing-ness makes me ROFL.

Amstaff Mom said...

no happy thoughts lately?

dpmpal (dump 'em pal)

Amstaff Mom said...

oops. the happy thoughts comment was supposed to be posted on K-T's comments. I couldn't figure out why it wasn't showing up. Too many blogs open at once.

I could have deleted it, but I liked my verification word.

dnibdmc (Dee nibbed Mike?)

jes said...

Entranced by the bitter harmony of your lips, I gaze beyond reason to find the oasis of your ruptured soul.

vwxmzfh!

JLR said...

You align yourself too much with the Listerine salesman.




yxmcxk (yikes! mike's 'kay)