gobbeldygook

Watchword for the day. Concerning this word:

"Sam Maverick’s grandson, Fontaine Maury Maverick, was a two-term congressman and a mayor of San Antonio who lost his mayoral re-election bid when conservatives labeled him a Communist. He served in the Roosevelt administration on the Smaller War Plants Corporation and is best known for another coinage. He came up with the term “gobbledygook” in frustration at the convoluted language of bureaucrats." (excerpted from J. Schwartz's NYTimes article "Who you callin' a Maverick?" 10.14.08)

The word accurately abstracts my sentiments concerning yesterday evening's presidential debates. I've decided I may just have to bully my way through the festering political rhetoric/inspirational message language and shovel straight down to the cocaine of pure motives. The spelunk that illuminates my way: the System, Capitalism.

I shall sneeze out exactly five deep thoughts now, not two. The pointy corners and razor sharp edges of their more colored consonant's letters vex the tender walls of my sinuses. Reactions are not cerebral cortex oriented arise, resembling hair raisingly swift brain stem electrical impulses than rationality, to put a head on that shoulder.

Be that, I say.

On my bus ride to work, I was already composing essays and juxtaposing them directly over failed love sonnets. It seems the early morning breeze whipping in from the bus roof hatch didn't quite do the trick. My hat still rested wanly on my head, preventing my identifiable features from flying off and out into oncoming traffic, which at such a small hour can be fatal - you man find yourself dropped off in a foreign land populated by either heavily customed desert people or mordantly animated snowball tossing bed bugs. Fortunately for me, however, the deeply rutted trench that I've zealously carved into the concrete by virtue of years and years of repetitive ritual has pre-empted all balancing on a tether between the scales. Simply follow that peculiarly low gliding hat to find my naked lunch.