/lit/ - Literature

"Are you alright, Slattery? You seem a bit off."

"I am most certainly not alright, Bunny. I had a most terrible encounter."

"Oh really? Do tell."

"Very well. I got lost on my way to a party and arrived outside what I thought to be the address. I climbed a set of old, wooden stairs to a worn, brown door. I opened it. It seemed like your room. The unmade bed, the bookcase, the scattered clothes on the floor. Curious, I walked to the window. The blind was half down. I pulled it up and looked out. Starlight twinkled above a snowy plane bestrewn with moonlit trees. I spotted a figure rummaging in the dark. He wore a red dolman under a sapphire shako. He stood up and looked at me. I could espy the movement of his lips in the chilly silence. Quite done with his gawking, he turned about and walked towards the horizon. The man faded into darkness and left behind two enchanting figures where he had formerly stood. Heavy snow began to fall. A hare limped trembling through the swirling snow, and in its wake came to me a simmering desire to approach them. I opened the window and jumped out. Trudging through the snowfall, my frosted breath took flight for heaven. The forlorn trees shivered in the icy breeze under the silver light of the star-speckled sky. Exhausted and frostbitten, I collapsed to my knees, only to see...them. Oh Bunny! if only you had seen what I had seen! True horror will be yours if you ever do! Such cold, black eyes. Such Yiddish snouts. Such long sinuous legs, and fur of purest pearl. I shook with terror at their crooked claws! But the fellow to his right--I had never seen such an unnatural thing as it before; and I had been misled by a tranny's tricks, mind you. It had form, yet none. It had familiarity, yet unfamiliarity. It seemed to flow right out of the snow and into reality; as if Dorian Gray and his portrait were put before me. While I knelled trembling before them, the fleshy fellow began to speak.

"Ask me a question." he said.

"Excuse me?" I responded, quite shocked at its English.

"Fucking newfag. Ask me a question. "

My mind flailed about, yet all I could come up with was the following:

"Why is it that French is randomly inserted into English?"

"I suppose its due to the Norman invasion of the United Arab Emirates of Britain, formerly Bongland, formerly the United Kingdom, formerly England. It's the natural occurrence of the conquest and cunning linguistics of the Normans upon the Saxons and Jutes."

"No." I responded. "I mean the blatant usage of French, styled in italic type, in place of perfectly acceptable words in English."

The canis unfamiliaris contracted his face in flabbergastment.

"I don't rightly know, homo." he said. "I don't think Saxon barbar to be so impoverished that its writers are compelled to use French. Now that you bring it to my attention, it's quite odd. Good question."

He stuck out his paw.

"Salutations, human. The name's Fido. What's yours?"