More stupider than most.

Creative language arts.

I was not an English major in college.  Rarely spoke in public.  Couldn’t spell.  Not good at diagramming sentences.  Didn’t know parts of speech.  Had a hard time understanding punctuations and where to place the Period.   Grammar was mutilated.  Took two remedial English classes and had to drop both or take an incomplete.

So, to say the least, English was a second language.  My mom and dad, the red dirt farmer and his wife, taught me more better Okie speak.  Speaking in short broken and incomplete sentences with lots of dot dot dots.  It worked okay until I finished sixth grade.  These days, I can get by with dictating into my iPhone and sending a cryptic text and blaming the corrupt verbiage on SIRI.  “Boy howdy! If that don’t beat all I ever saw,” my Okie dad would say.

Published by Chuck the prattling Curmudgeon

If I told you the truth about myself you would think what a wad of chewed gum stuck under a church pew I am. Dull. Ordinary. However, I wasn't born yesterday.

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