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  #1  
Unread 05-12-2020, 06:11 PM
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Allen Tice Allen Tice is offline
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Default Mardon me, Padam, you are occupewing my pie

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.

Last edited by Allen Tice; 05-13-2020 at 09:56 AM.
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Unread 05-13-2020, 03:38 AM
Brian Allgar Brian Allgar is offline
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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!"
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Unread 05-13-2020, 07:26 AM
Graham King Graham King is offline
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A pine flan! -Foe thirst, I must mend my sail, make a cone fall, and bead a rook.

Last edited by Graham King; 05-13-2020 at 07:36 AM.
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Unread 05-13-2020, 07:40 AM
Graham King Graham King is offline
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On hearing rumours that supermarkets were short of many items under lockdown, Doctor Spooner insisted this was "Nothing but a lack of pies".
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Unread 05-13-2020, 09:24 AM
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Brian, queue are erect. My lunarisms are spousy ~ OR~ Spy lunarisms are mousy. Anyway, lust have munch now.

Last edited by Allen Tice; 05-18-2020 at 11:17 AM.
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Unread 05-13-2020, 09:50 AM
Orwn Acra Orwn Acra is online now
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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..."
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Unread 05-13-2020, 05:10 PM
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That’s amazing, and hilarious, and dirty. Let’s obliviate it. As to my own neologism “hoon,” it has no known connection to Wallace Stevens’s “Tea at the Palaz of Hoon,” a typical Stevens poem whose title lacks, I think, any spoonerisms. Sam Gwynn might correct me.

Last edited by Allen Tice; 05-13-2020 at 07:22 PM.
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Unread 05-14-2020, 03:16 PM
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Brian, rather than my dancing with faint prams (more or less!) around the long post above, many might like to see what your spooner hoard of delection holds. Please, one or three, oh please.

Last edited by Allen Tice; 05-18-2020 at 01:23 PM.
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Unread 05-15-2020, 05:52 AM
Brian Allgar Brian Allgar is offline
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It'll take me some time to hack my way though the undergrowth of old competition entries. In the meantime ...

Dr Spooner still garbled his words,
Though insisting “I’m wetter with birds”.
At a wedding, this freak
Was invited to speak,
And to utter a few tasteful words.

So he stood to give hope and advice
While sprinkling confetti and rice.
“In a few wasteful turds,
May you boo like the Kurds,
May your children be night-filled and lice.”

******************

He had an unfortunate vice:
He could easily order “Fried Rice”,
But his tongue would get stuck
When he ordered “Fried Duck”;
What they served him was not very nice.

******************

Dr. Spooner said: “I must apprise
My detractors - your jokes are unwise.
I tell you”, he grumbled,
“My stung never tumbled;
It’s all been a great lack of pies.”

(Note to Graham: I didn't pinch the "lack of pies" from you. This limerick is from many years ago.)

Last edited by Brian Allgar; 05-15-2020 at 05:58 AM.
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Unread 05-15-2020, 06:11 AM
Brian Allgar Brian Allgar is offline
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And here's one from a Spectator competition, which also uses the "Fried Duck" spoonerism.


While putting the lawnmower shack in the bed,
I observed that the door had become rather creaky.
Had the minges got hoist? “Oh, forget it!”, I said;
I was hungry and thirsty, exhausted and peaky,

For lowing the morn is a task I find tough,
So I strolled to the restaurant, aptly called “Mabel
Tanners”. Though crowded with elegant fluff,
I was rapidly teated at one vacant sable.

I glanced at the menu, and toyed with the “Tongue
Served with Lips and boiled Cheeks”, “Lack of Ram” (à la carte),
Or some “Real, wild Vice” if it’s tender and young.
And dessert - what about a “Trench Raspberry Fart”?

No, I thought I would stick to my usual fare,
And I called the obsequious waiter. With luck,
My unruly old tongue wouldn’t cause him to stare
When I ordered my favourite dinner: “Fried Duck”.



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