Miguel Ángel Aijón Oliva
But just say the word

Yet another orange


OrangeThank Bog, O my brothers, that them oozhassny views of language as automatically determined by social ascription are now starting to be viddied as chepooka, and will end up by snuffing it. What our slovos actually do is like turn us into something we want to be. In this sense, nadsat ways of govoreeting are always quite interessovatting to analyze—they can provide dorogoy information as to what makes one molodoy in a community. If you use them at the wrong razzes, it just won’t rabbit. Lewdies are not that gloopy.

As is well known, nadsats use expressions as resources for the development of gruppa ties with their droogs just as they differentiate themselves from others—mainly adult chellovecks. And we starry moodges and baboochkas can get rather mad when we sloosh those strange slovos coming out of their rots. We can call them vulgar or illiterate with their overabundance of like I was like wow like I mean you know, but the truth is that we also were malenky once and our deds probably thought we govoreeted just baddiwad. It may not be your average Shakespear cal or zvook like Ludwig van, but it is often bugatty in expressiveness and—more importantly—it appears to fit one’s communicative needs horrorshow at that stage of jeezny. It is like indexical of a culture based on warbles, sinny and the Internet, with little if any shilarny for logical messel.

At the same time, the truth is that it grows like outdated real skorry, and that is why the zammechat author Anthony Burgess, rather than trying to imitate what malchicks skazatted, invented a kind of jargon that no odin did actually use. So now, more than fifty years later, it sounds as bezoomny and choodessny as it used to.




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