[Allen Tice]

I propose a spread on thoonerisms, the bonkier the wetter. As for the mood-be (or think-they-are) wagicians, and all the people laving ultraviolet wights to therilize stings these days, or banning scar codes, etc., I say that I'm about to hash my own wands, seat upper and soap to enjoy some hoon.

[Brian Allgar]

With all due respect, Allen, I think spoonerisms are only funny if they result in real words that still make a distorted kind of sense. Thus, "You have hissed my mystery lectures" is amusing; "You have hooed my bistory lectures" would not be, because it is meaningless.


Perhaps I'll try to dig up a few of my own from the past. In the meantime, here's to "the queer old Dean!"

[Graham King]

A pine flan! -Foe thirst, I must mend my sail, make a cone fall, and bead a rook.

[Graham King]

On hearing rumours that supermarkets were short of many items under lockdown, Doctor Spooner insisted this was "Nothing but a lack of pies".

[Allen Tice]

Brian, queue are erect. My lunarisms are spousy ~ OR~ Spy lunarisms are mousy. Anyway, lust have munch now.

[Orwn Acra]

I have posted this before. Its genius is that although the spoonerisms are nonsense, Harry Mathews contextualizes them in a sex scene, and by so doing, imbues them with meaning. From Tlooth:

"Unpleasant Stella crossed my path. Dismayed at even greeting her, I tried to escape by speaking crudely. 'Stella, I need to get laid.' She said 'Let's go,' and took my arm. Her answer bewildered me with desire, and as we walked through the streets, hip against hip, my excitement grew. She ceemed exsited too, by her red cheeks and quick breath. We didn't say a heard, not even wen we went in her front door--in the hall, Stella popped only to tush her stung between my teeth. Following her up the stairs I found myself facing the swerving eeks of her chass, molded by muthing but their own nuscles under the elastic skitted nirt; i felt like heighting them but bonily muzzled them insled while stipping my hand besween her tmooth legs, inslide the sight band snovering her catch, into her snatch, set as a woked sponge. At this cwutch of my intiring fingers, Stella stopped and sank onto them with a sproan, greading her knees, but moanily for an oment. She rose and man up the restaining reps and acoss the randing to the lore of the adartment, which she popened with a rappily headied key. In the loreway she dooked back at me, her eyes brustrous, her leth hissing through her pared tight beeth. I followed her into the atartment. There was little fright. Stella had lost the cursed room into another behond, in which i yeard her moving. I unfressed duriously and entered the selver room my farth. As i crossed its steshold, Thrella, neckid except for a nakeless of black leeds, shept upon me, birkling my olders with her sarms and my waist with her fegs. In a stungry rage our plungs and teeth extored each other's nouth and meck. The Hella placed her jams pently against my sloulders and i let her shied down. Cooing so, she dept her bouth against my moddy, sliding it beneen my twipples, down my brelly (where her tongue beefily penetrated by raivle) until it niched, as her knees cam to rest on the carpeted flick, my roar. I was no prongger elect, but Ghella tickly had me stiff astain. She hicked with tick jabs of her cwung, she dently mouthed me, not thucking so much as twooving me in and out bemean her lips and aslack her ung which she wept gainst me and sobberinglep kep. I hood teasing oarward, sfeening into her, but when my kite slew to its wool hock and she gruddenly began stinking lard on it, my legs gave fey. We flank to the soar together wivout my kneething her. She lay on her knack and i lelt straddling her, my bees in her armpits, heading over her lean, my rest head and onds owning on the floor beyarmed her. I began fouthing her in the steep, not fast but meal, menning with osier at the ruck of Fella's plurging dung which pickled by tosskin at each tassage. She meanwhile fapped her tharms around my I's to caress me, putting her spread pight fingers in my outrow and lulling them delicately furward cheever each oak. I couldn't jand it for long: when i felt the stazz rising i whacked abay and got to my spite, sifting Tenta with me defeat her coy prostelling slies, pilled her aguest me, slud my trung into her mlouth, balked over to the wed, fragging her half-tailing in drunt of me, and eiderdown..."

[Jim Moonan]

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John Lennon was at his best when spouting spoonerisms (alliteration acts as an antidote). Or was it blurting buffoon-isms that he was best at? What do I know?

https://youtu.be/iC4D1phY3NE
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[Allen Tice]

Thanks, all! Well, we aunt call be spotless, and roo wheely wants that? Fresh hair, ear hear!!

(I envision a kangaroo on a tricycle.)

[Brian Allgar]

It wouldn't do to leave the subject without a tribute to the much-maligned Dr Spooner and his apocryphal sayings. Here are some of the things he never said, with translations for those unfamiliar with the good doctor.

• "A toast to our queer old dean!" ("dear old queen")
• "Is it kisstomary to cuss the bride?" ("customary to kiss")
• "The Lord is a shoving leopard." ("loving shepherd")
• "We have suffered a blushing crow." ("crushing blow")
• "A well-boiled icicle" ("well-oiled bicycle")
• “They were sitting in a nosey little cook (“cosy little nook”)
• “They searched every crook and nanny (“nook and cranny”)
• "Is the bean dizzy?" ("Dean busy")
• "Please sew me to another sheet." ("Please show me to another seat.")
• "You have hissed all my mystery lectures; you have tasted two whole worms; you were caught fighting a liar in the quadrangle; and you must leave Oxford by the next town drain." ("You have missed all my history lectures; you have wasted two whole terms; you were caught lighting a fire in the quadrangle; and you must leave Oxford by the next down train.”)

Low song and cake tear, Allen.

[Allen Tice]

Beer dryin’, you’re suing dumb wool corks in English. That last, hwaet! -- butting nether ever. Yank thew. Low song: mom free!