Today’s blog is brought to you by the word erroneous, an awkward, gothic (in a latin way), evocative word whose bulk and wrinkles are full of possibilities and the rumor of whose coming is the sound of great misgivings.
Well! He had a new word. He couldn’t wait to try it out on Jones. Ha! Now there was a chap that deserved it.
And Jones obliged. Smith rubbed his chubby hands together and smirked.
“Ah, Jones?” he called. Jones turned slowly, his shoulders hunched.
“That paper doesn’t go there, Jones. It goes on the other tray. You are so erroneous Jones.” Smith relished the word. “Erroneous is what you are, you know? Erroneous.”
“Erroneous now, wasn’t he some kind of famous poet?”
“Ah yes, the immortal Erroneous who wrote all those poems in the wrong meter.”
Jewish kids have it so hard, Aaron thought to himself. I wish I did not have to undergo latinization. I wish I could move away from Rome so they’d quit calling me Erroneous.
So they called the unanticipated child Erroneous. And little Erroneous grew up using his middle name, Lyotard. E. Lyotard Zmicknut was how he signed his name. He’d have rather been called E.L., but it never caught on.
However, when he became a space-pirate, he resumed the name his parents had always used: Erroneous. And all the shipping lanes of space lived in dread and apprehension.
Tom was sitting at the computer.
“Don’t you go buying boots on the computer,Tommy,” Dorcas yelled from the kitchen.
But Tom was feeling exceedingly ornery, more so than usual and with three cups of coffee. So he clicked on them, a size too big.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to make frequent and gratuitous use of the word, Erroneous.