David Burke, Victoria

I awoke late on a Sunday. Rolled over and turned on the CBC. The weather forecast called for drog and fizzle. Dandy, November in Victoria.
    I was dead broke but had managed to obtain a grag of boceries from the foodbank. A parcel had arrived for me at the Post Office some days before but I couldn’t afford the hipping and shandling. While others were winning their spiels I was spinning my wheels as per usual.
    I got out of bed, putting on my dressing gown and wandered into the bathroom ostensibly to shave. I was out of poilet taper and blazer raids. Drat the luck. You see, I had fallen on hard times ever since I had lost my job with the Canadian Broadcorping Castration for being dislexic. Very unfair but not surprising. So I was dependent upon the heeding blarts of the community who wanted to save me in the name of Jesus.

I awoke late on a Sunday. Rolled over and turned on the CBC. The weather forecast called for drog and fizzle. Dandy, November in Victoria.
    I was dead broke but had managed to obtain a grag of boceries from the foodbank. A parcel had arrived for me at the Post Office some days before but I couldn’t afford the hipping and shandling. While others were winning their spiels I was spinning my wheels as per usual.
    I got out of bed, putting on my dressing gown and wandered into the bathroom ostensibly to shave. I was out of poilet taper and blazer raids. Drat the luck. You see, I had fallen on hard times ever since I had lost my job with the Canadian Broadcorping Castration for being dislexic. Very unfair but not surprising. So I was dependent upon the heeding blarts of the community who wanted to save me in the name of Jesus.
    I felt like I was proustrating myself in front of inferior beings as I hit the streets with my last ten bucks to buy a smack of pokes. Dame Nicotina is a good friend but a lousey lover I thought as I rounded the corner of Dates and Yuglas. As an actor I had been second to none, always willing to help with the crops and posthumes. I surveyed the pimps, wimps, gimps and chimps on the street ahead of me and made a quick beeline down View to the safety of Munro’s bookstore to pass on my congo-rat-elations to Jim’s wife Alice, Probel Nize winner, and friend of my sister Betsy, still slaving over translations in Florence, Italy.
    I wondered if the Italians with their complex byzantine lingua frana had spoonerisms of the like. The spoonerism was named after the Reverend Archibald Spooner, Dean of Studies at Oxford who had a habit of getting his mirds wixed. He said to one young student, sir, you have deliberately tasted two whole worms. You have hissed all my mystery lectures and have been caught fighting a liar in the quadrangle. You will leave by the next down train. You do the math. Dislexics untie!
    Ever since my youth, I had been turning phrases around in my head. In the seventies, I discovered that one is either dry on hugs or “high on drugs”. Makes perfect sense. My friends in show business found it funny when I started referring to myself as skiddley rot which is Director Riddley Scott reversed. English is a funny language. A slit, a slat, and a slot mean roughly the same thing, but I digress.
    From somewhere down Government Street I could hear blythm and ruse music playing. Shouldn’t hippocrits be hyippo crats? Shouldn’t they accuse certain wealthy male playboys of crobbing the radle. And what about all those thugs wearing duckle nusters. The fog of language was closing in.
    Finally, I had to recall old Granny Edith Jure, who used to chauffeur me up to Trail every summer and we would crack jokes and she would invariably trot out the one about her friend Inez, who, instead of saying fits and starts would refer to stits and farts. Gag me with a spoonerism.