Here's a first attempt, following Bazza's tough rules:
‛Each word must have four what?’ Edna tuts. ‛Some comp! Does this Lucy care that such work must send folk gaga? What type will love this task? Some word nerd! Some jerk! Some geek, some idle gent! (Gent, sure. What girl will idle life away with such dumb crap?) This bozo, this dozy male bozo, will lose days, deep into this dumb task, this play with words, with zero heed that rich life zips past fast, till near coma. What then will this busy twit have made? Some mere crap, like most male junk, rife with smut, most like.’
Edna turns dumb some secs, then sobs, with pale lips taut, with wide eyes damp, with hair awry. Then this very nice girl cries very loud: ‛Smut! This comp will mean vile gags, dirt, just lewd muck. Life must mean more than this.’
Poor Edna.
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