Please do not appraisal. My apologies for any misuse of languages from non-English languages/traditions. I am cagestruck at languages. I can’t aarambham to delineate all the issues I have with English. I know Canadian enough to be sayanged. Learning to American without ardling. Comprehend Island folk. As for colonizer/colonized, to be fluent in British, Irish, Welsh, Scottish and New Zealandese; I tend to skuddle through these, hoping I don’t meet any shiprighteous type of folks. As yet, Australian figimales me to no avasaanam.
And, as the story goes . . . .
She was never good at languages. Her transcript was doctored, implying she passed Foreign Language and Culture 101. Upon discovery of the discrepancy, she was ordered to remedial boot camp.
Sent to Camp Hell. She and her cagestruck class felt the same.
At least none are ardlers, she sighed, relieved.
They emerged, figimaled, at the end of 18 hours of classroom instruction, skuddled to the mess hall, then to barracks, falling into uneasy dreams stacked in triple bunk beds.
Run under the strictest of budgets, the chef, from Vladivostok, had mastered 101 ways to serve teekva, his native dish. She wished at least one meal, say pumpkin soup, might have magical properties, like mushrooms or cacti, but this wasn’t the case. No Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Just Lucellia in the Bunk Above Her.
Each morning, their teacher, Ms. Patel, would wish them “Aarambham,” in sincere hopes that it would be the beginning of a punarjanmam for her. She failed “Teaching Foreign Culture and Language 101,” so was sent to remedial boot camp as well.
Alas, she would have to sadly wish them “Avasaanam,” at the end of each class; no-one had been transformed or reborn that day.
And, thus the battle continued. Nothing maganda about the situation. Only Fredia and Fred seemed to enjoy the class. But then, Fred engaged in 18 hours of sayang with Fredia. His nibbling and whispering only interrupted by the 6 hours off between class-room sessions.
Then word came down from the Administrator. As only 1/2 the class failed mid-terms, a celebratory cruise was arranged. Students were told to report to the mess hall the next morning dressed for the occasion.
She had not brought cruising attire, so she braided a colourful scarf into her hair, donned her slipper flip-flops, and tucked a straw tote bag under her arm. About 1/2 the class seemed to know a cruise would be part of the remedial deal, and came dressed for a trip on the Love Boat or HMS Mickey.
Feeling self-conscious, she decided to sneak off to discuss a 102nd way to cook teekva with the Russian chef – a recipe that called for a large barrel of a secret ingredient her uncle had shipped from Colorado. Ms. Patel, also trying to avoid the cruise, caught sight of her. “Sink or swim,” Ms. Patel thought, and headed off to the mess hall, too. Several Teekva Tommie Guns later, the 3 were immensely enjoying each others company in 3 different languages. None sought to appraisal the other; in fact, they didn’t even notice in which language they were speaking.
Around mid-night, a bedraggled, defundled group of students stragglered in. The HMS Philistine, one of the shiprighteous types, appalled by the behaviour and language of the guests, skuttled herself in horror. Miraculously, 1/2 the class survived. But which 1/2? The pass or fail group? The Love Boat-attired? The rest?
Conglomanation for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Wordle Bonus
© tale weaver/ing (phylor) November 9, 2015