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Invidy, diaeretics, and Eëtal-Otoh-Satt!

Conjoined on December 17, 2023.

And this is how I was reborn the next morning.

“Invidious” is the twinling of “envious”, and thus this week I continued my insistence that “invidia” should be a neological doublet of “envy”. Or would that be doubletionary neologism? I pondered. My brow furrowed. I pondered harder.

Then it struck me: My hopelessly repetitive stupidity had finally outdone my chronic witless boobery. I had made a truly horrible blunder—a neologistical error!—that would go down in history as surely the worst. Not even when that Levitican squealing-wheel went cycling madly, spilling grain and kernels of corn all over my yard and gardens, had I been so frenetic. Frantically I began beeping, before I began blinking—blankly, bleached, blanched, and bleak. Becasue and Nurdlebutt watched helplessly. When I commenced bubbling and squeaking, Becasue bonked me over the head with her pair of goatskin flip-flops. I simmered down.

But I insisted: It should have been “invidy” all along!

It has long puzzled me why “diaeresis” isn’t written with a diaeresis. Sadly however, each time I ponder this, my pea brain eventually drifts over to Chloë Moretz and her own lovely little diaeresis, so I get distracted. So, this question continues to puzzle me. Perhaps I will never know the answer.

I sipped my tea, stick of pepperoni clasped firmly in my right hand, and dozed gently off.

I slept and I dreamed: I dreamed of shimmering doublets raining down from purple skies—glittering words and scintillating verbs pelting me in the face. Many sported strange, extraneous diacritics and some even sported extranier noses. I dreamed of horses hurrying by, carried on the backs of cars, as I painted a thousand-thousand little diaereses all over Chloë’s lovely feet. And I dreamed of a planet charmingly named Eëtal-Otoh-Satt where the grass was greenest and the air was a golden yellowish. And again, there was Chloë in a short skirt and curt shirt—and again, I painted a million-million diaereses all over her f—

On this charming little planet, I then became a bee: I was able to see infrared, ultraviolet, and even ultraviolence. I buzzed around merrily watching trillions upon trillions of bacteria slaughtering one another in the air, in the water, and on the land.

I then became a beë: I grew an extra syllable and had a diaeresis to call my own! Indeed I was beëing a beë. (But not “indeëd”! What a horrible word that would be!) I buzzed around merrily until a bird ate me and I woke up screaming, screäming, and squeëorling.

Someone was knocking on my frontmost door. Maybe it was a door-to-door salesman. Or maybe a door-to-door whalesman? I leapt out of my Hopeless Slack-Ass® recliner and rushed to the door, still totally bereft of clothing but for a stick of pepperoni placed in an opportune location. I swung the door open. The door-to-door whatever-he-was took one look at my pepperoni and left in a rush.

And this was how I was reborn the next morning.