At holiday dinners, my uncle Marty would extricate himself from a linguistic malapropism with a meta-linguistic malapropism. Sensing he'd made an error but not quite sure what it was, he'd tack a postscript to his story by saying, "Quote me if I'm wrong."
Coming from an undereducated man, this was fine, even entertaining. But it's no longer hyperbowlic to say that we must stop the esculation of verbage malpractice from overpaid media pundints who engage in repeated mispronounciations.
Too off ten, these incidences are allowed to perculate unchallenged in commentaries and innerviews. For all intensive purposes, unless we reorientate ourselves quickly, it'll be a wintery Febyouary Valentimes day in hell before things improve.
But you could prolly care less.
I use to think that, given the higharky of our problems, this was none of my bidness. But the plentitude of errors now requires that we do our upmost to provide better scrutinty of our pundintry.
Why are things undoutably worse, you aks, when computers supposably place a virtual liberry at our fingertips?
Some blame the pressure to prostate one's self in a doggy dog media landscape where it takes the skills of an elite athalete to compete. Others say it's the extra jolt of eckspresso -- or the Ritalin perscription -- that makes them perspire whenever they inspire. Another interpetation is that default can definilly be contributed to acrossed the board gubmint cutbacks in education beginning at the kinnygarden level. Eckctera, eckcetera.
Irregardless of our impulse to chomp at the bit, a touch of humility is desirable. Let's face fax: each of us occupies a tiny nitch and no one can see the entire pitcher. A mispronounciation doesn't necessarily indicate a character floor. It's immattoor -- some would say immachurrr -- to demand that pundints warsh their mouths out with soap after every stumble. Even if we wanted to storm the barricades, we'd have a ways to go. There's no calvary or fleet of black heeliocopters to call in.
No need to see the crisis through the lends of linguistic terrism or, to put it more elickantly -- or less say sucksinkly -- lexifascism. The newkewlur option would reduce the human race a mere asterick. Anyways, democracy is our fortay. A kindler, gentler approach will help us to negociate the pathway to success!
Variant pronounciations are inevitable -- after all, the language is ever-evolving.
My grandfather Big Jack Berkowitz (4' 11" before late-life shrinkage set in) said "goil" when he meant "girl" and "earl" when he meant "oil." Go figger. In the Christmas spirit, we might even forgive the occasional "newkewlur," though never from a president with his finger on the nuclear trigger.
It's only by pulling our resources that we can close the eckscape hatch that gives a pass to pundints' heenious errors. It will take a group catharctic experience to truffully free pundints and amachers alike from the vaglaries and vissistitudes of mispronounciation.
This whole sitchyashun could be a blessing in the skies. To keep things on the shtrate and arrow, your imput is essential.
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