whay is to zeed like  your  golfchild's abe
boob caddy.  And  this is why any simple philadolphus of  a fool you like to
dress,  an  athemisthued  lowtownian, exlegged  phatrisight, may be  awfully
green to one side of him and  fruitfully blue  on the other which  will  not
screen  him  however  from appealing  to my gropesarching  eyes, through the
strongholes of my acropoll, as a boosted  blasted  bleating blatant  bloaten
blasphorus blesphorous idiot who kennot tail a bomb from a painapple when he
steals  one  and wannot psing  his psalmen with the  cong in our gregational
pompoms with the canting crew.
     No! Topsman to your Tarpeia! This thing, Mister Abby,  is nefand. (And,
taking off soutstuffs and alkalike matters, I hope we can kill time to reach
the salt because  there's some  forceglass  neutric assets  bittering in the
soldpewter for  you  to plump  your  pottage in). The thundering  legion has
stormed Olymp that it end. Twelve tabular  times till now have I edicted it.
Merus Genius to Careous Caseous!  Moriture,  te salutat!  My phemous  themis
race  is run, so let  Demoncracy  take the highmost! (Abraham Tripier. Those
old  diligences are quite  out of date. Read next  answer). I'll beat you so
lon.  (Bigtempered.  Why not take direct  action.  See  previous reply).  My
unchanging Word is sacred. The word  is my Wife, to exponse and  expound, to
vend and to velnerate, and may the curlews crown our nuptias! Till Breath us
depart!  Wamen. Beware would  you change with my years. Be as  young as your
grandmother!  The ring man in  the rong  shop but the rite words by the rote
order! Ubi lingua nuncupassit, ibi fas! Adversus hostem semper sac! She that
will  not  feel my  fulmoon  let  her peel  to  thee as the hoyden  and  the
impudent! That mon  that  hoth  no  moses in his sole  nor  is  not  awed by
conquists of word's law, who never with humself was fed and leaves  his soil
to lave his  head, when his hope's in his highlows from whisking his woe, if
he came to  my preach, a  proud  pursebroken ranger, when  the  heavens were
welling the spite of their spout, to beg for a bite in our  bark Noisdanger,
would meself  and Mac Jeffet, four-in-hand, foot him out?  -- ay! -- were he
my own breastbrother, my doubled withd love and my  singlebiassed hate, were
we bread by the  same fire and signed with the same salt, had we tapped from
the same master and robbed the same till, were we tucked in the one bed  and
bit by  the one flea, homogallant  and hemycapnoise, bum and dingo, jack  by
churl, though it broke my heart to pray it, still I'd fear I'd hate to say!
     12. Sacer esto?
     Answer: Semus sumus!

        Chapter 7

     Shem is as short for Shemus as Jem is joky for  Jacob. A few toughnecks
are  still getatable  who  pretend that  aboriginally he was of  respectable
stemming (he was an outlex between the lines of Ragonar Blaubarb ant Horrild
Hairwire and an inlaw to  Capt. the Hon. and Rev. Mr Bbyrdwood de Trop Blogg
was among his most distant connections)  but every honest to goodness man in
the land of the space of today knows that his back life will not stand being
written about in black and white. Putting  truth and untruth together a shot
may be made at what this hybrid actually was like to look at.
     Shem's bodily getup, it seems, included an adze of a skull, an eight of
a larkseye,  the whoel of a nose,  one numb arm up a sleeve,  fortytwo hairs
off  his  uncrown,  eighteen  to  his mock lip,  a  trio of barbels from his
megageg chin (sowman's son),  the wrong shoulder higher than the right,  all
ears, an artificial  tongue with  a natural curl, not  a foot to stand on, a
handful of thumbs, a blind stomach, a deaf heart, a loose liver, two  fifths
of two  buttocks, one gleetsteen avoirdupoider  for  him, a manroot  of  all
evil,  a  salmonkelt's  thinskin, eelsblood  in  his-cold  toes,  a  bladder
tristended, so much so that young Master Shemmy on his very first debouch at
the very  dawn of protohistory seeing  himself such  and such, when  playing
with thistlewords in their garden nursery,  Griefotrofio, at Phig Streat III
Shuvlin, Old Hoeland, (would we  go back there now for sounds, pillings  and
sense? would we now for annas and annas? would we for fullscore eight  and a
liretta? for twelve blocks one bob? for four testers one groat?  not  for  a
dinar! not for jo!) dictited to of all his little brothron  and sweestureens
the first riddle of the universe: asking,  when is a man not a man?: telling
them take their time, yungfries,  and wait till the tide stops (for from the
first his day was a fortnight) and offering the prize of a bittersweet crab,
a little present from  the  past, for their copper  age was yet unminted, to
the  winner.  One said  when the  heavens are quakers, a  second  said  when
Bohemeand lips, a third said when he, no, when hold hard a jiffy, when he is
a gnawstick and  detarmined to, the  next one said when the  angel  of death
kicks the  bucket of life, still another  said when the wine's at  witsends,
and still  another  when lovely  wooman  stoops to  conk  him,  one  of  the
littliest said  me,  me, Sem, when pappa  papared  the harbour, one  of  the
wittiest said, when he yeat ye abblokooken and  he zmear hezelf  zo zhooken,
still  one  said  when you are  old I'm grey fall full wi  sleep, and  still
another  when wee deader  walkner, and  another  when he is  just only after
having being semisized, another when yea, he hath  no mananas, and one  when
dose pigs they begin now  that they will flies up intil  the looft. All were
wrong,  so  Shem himself, the doctator, took  the cake, the correct solution
being -- all give it up? -- ; when he is a -- yours till the rending of  the
rocks, -- Sham.
     Shem was a sham and a low sham and his  lowness  creeped out first  via
foodstuffs. So low was he that he  preferred Gibsen's teatime salmon tinned,
as inexpensive  as pleasing,  to  the plumpest roeheavy lax or the friskiest
parr or  smolt  troutlet  that ever was  gaffed between  Leixlip  and Island
Bridge and many was the time he repeated in his botulism that no junglegrown
pineapple  ever smacked like  the whoppers you shook  out  of Ananias' cans,
Findlater and  Gladstone's,  Corner House,  Englend.  None of your inchthick
blueblooded Balaclava  fried-at-belief-stakes  or  juicejelly  legs  of  the
Grex's molten mutton or greasilygristly grunters' goupons or slice upon slab
of  luscious goosebosom with  lump after  load of  plumpudding  stuffing all
aswim in a swamp of bogoakgravy for that greekenhearted yude! Rosbif  of Old
Zealand! he  could not attouch it. See  what  happens  when your somatophage
merman  takes  his  fancy to  our virgitarian swan?  He  even ran  away with
hunself and became a farsoonerite, saying he would far sooner muddle through
the  hash of lentils in  Europe than meddle with Irrland's split little pea.
Once when among those  rebels in a state of hopelessly helpless intoxication
the piscivore strove to lift a czitround peel to either nostril, hiccupping,
apparently impromptued by the  hibat he had with his glottal stop,  that  he
kukkakould  flowrish for ever by the  smell,  as  the czitr, as the kcedron,
like a scedar,  of the founts, on mountains,  with limon  on, of Lebanon. O!
the  lowness of him was  beneath all  up  to  that  sunk to!  No likedbylike
firewater or firstserved  firstshot or  gulletburn gin or honest brewbarrett
beer  either.   O  dear  no!  Instead  the  tragic  jester   sobbed  himself
wheywhingingly  sick  of  life  on  some  sort of  a  rhubarbarous maundarin
yellagreen  funkleblue   windigut  diodying  applejack  squeezed  from  sour
grapefruice and,  to  hear  him  twixt his sedimental  cupslips when  he had
gulfed down mmmmuch too mmmmany gourds of it  retching off to almost as  low
withswillers, who always knew  notwithstanding when they had had  enough and
were rightly indignant at  the wretch's hospitality when they found to their
horror  they could not carry  another drop, it came straight from the  noble
white  fat, jo,  openwide sat, jo, jo, her why hide  that,  jo  jo  jo,  the
winevat, of  the most  serene magyansty az archdiochesse, if  she is a duck,
she's a douches, and when  she  has a feherbour snot her fault,  now  is it?
artstouchups,  funny  you're  grinning at, fancy  you're in  her  yet, Fanny
Urinia.
     Aint that swell, hey? Peamengro! Talk about lowness! Any dog's quantity
of it visibly oozed out  thickly from this dirty little  blacking beetle for
the  very  fourth snap the  Tulloch-Turnbull  girl with her  coldblood kodak
shotted  the as yet unremuneranded  national apostate,  who was cowardly gun
and camera shy,  taking what he fondly thought was a short cut to Caer Fere,
Soak Amerigas, vias the shipsteam Pridewin,  after  having  buried a hatchet
not so  long before,  by the wrong goods exeunt, nummer  desh  to tren, into
Patatapapaveri's, fruiterers and musical  florists, with  his  Ciaho, chavi!
Sat shin, shillipen? she knew the vice out  of bridewell was a  bad fast man
by his walk on the spot.
     [Johns is a different butcher's.  Next place you are up town pay  him a
visit. Or  better still, come tobuy. You will enjoy cattlemen's spring meat.
Johns  is now  quite divorced from  baking.  Fattens, kills,  flays,  hangs,
draws, quarters and pieces. Feel his lambs  ! Ex ! Feel how sheap! Exex! His
liver too is great value, a spatiality! Exexexl COMMUNICATED.]
     Around that time, moravar, one generally, for luvvomony hoped or at any
rate suspected among morticians that he would  early tum out badly,  develop
hereditary  pulmonary T.B.,  and  do for himself one  dandy time,  nay, of a
pelting night blanketed creditors, hearing a coarse song and splash off Eden
Quay  sighed and rolled over, sure  all  was up, but, though he fell heavily
and locally into  debit, not even then could such an  antinomian be true  to
type. He would  not put  fire to his cerebrum; he would not throw himself in
Liffey;  he  would  not  explaud  himself with pneumantics;  he  refused  to
saffrocake himself with a  sod. With the foreign devil's leave the fraid bom
fraud diddled even death. Anzi,  cabled  (but shaking the worth  out of  his
maulth: Guardacosta leporello? Szasas Kraicz!) from his Nearapoblican asylum
to  his jonathan for a brother: Here tokay, gone tomory,  we're spluched, do
something, Fireless. And had answer: Inconvenient, David.
     You see,  chaps, it will trickle  out, freaksily of course, but the tom
and the shorty of it is: he  was in his bardic  memory low. All the time  he
kept  on  treasuring with condign  satisfaction  each  and  every  crumb  of
trektalk,  covetous of  his  neighbour's word, and if  ever,  during a Munda
conversazione  commoted in  the  nation's interest,  delicate  tippits  were
thrown out  to  him touching  his evil courses by  some  wellwishers, vainly
pleading by scriptural arguments with the opprobrious papist about trying to
brace  up for the kidos of the thing, Scally wag, and be a men instead of  a
dem  scrounger, dish it all,  such as: Pray, what is the  meaning, sousy, of
that continental  expression,  if  you ever  came acrux it, we think it is a
word transpiciously  like canaille?: or:  Did you anywhere, kennel,  on your
gullible's  travels  or  during  your rural troubadouring, happen to stumble
upon a  certain gay young nobleman whimpering to the  name of Low Swine  who
always addresses women out of the one comer of his mouth, lives on loans and
is furtivefree yours of age? without one sigh of haste like the supreme prig
he was, and not a bit sorry, he would  pull a vacant landlubber's face, root
with earwaker's pensile in the outer of his lauscher and then, lisping,  the
prattlepate parnella, to kill  time, and swatting his deadbest to think what
under  the  canopies  of  Jansens  Chrest  would  any  decent  son   of   an
Albiogenselman who had bin to an university think, let a lent hit a hint and
begin to tell all the  intelligentsia admitted  to that tamileasy samtalaisy
conclamazzione (since, still and before physicians, lawyers merchant, belfry
pollititians,  agricolous  manufraudurers,  sacrestanes  of  the  Pure River
Society, philanthropicks lodging on as  many boards round the panesthetic at
the same time as possible) the whole lifelong swrine story of his entire low
cornaille  existence, abusing his deceased ancestors wherever the  sods were
and  one moment tarabooming great blunderguns (poh!) about his farfamed fine
Poppamore, Mr Humhum, whom history, climate and entertainment made the first
of his sept  and always up to  debt,  though  Eavens ears  ow many fines  he
faces, and another moment visanvrerssas,cruaching three jeers (pah!) for his
rotten  little ghost of a Peppybeg, Mr Himmyshimmy, a  blighty,  a  reeky, a
lighty, a scrapy,  a babbly, a ninny, dirty seventh among thieves and always
bottom  sawyer,  till  nowan  knowed  how  howmely  howme  could be,  giving
unsolicited testimony on  behalf  of the absent, as  glib as  eaveswater  to
those present  (who  meanwhile,  with  increasing  lack of  interest  in his
semantics,  allowed various  subconscious smickers to drivel  slowly  across
their fichers), unconsciously explaining, for inkstands, with a meticulosity
bordering on the insane, the various  meanings of all the different  foreign
parts of speech  he misused and  cuttlefishing every lie  unshrinkable about
all the other people  in the story, leaving out, of course, foreconsciously,
the  simple worf  and plague and  poison  they  had cornered him about until
there was not a snoozer among them but was utterly undeceived in the heel of
the reel by the recital of the rigmarole.
     He  went  without  saying  that  the  cull   disliked  anything  anyway
approaching a plain straightforward standup  or knockdown row and, as  often
as he  was called  in to umpire any octagonal argument  among slangwhangers,
the accomplished  washout always used to rub shoulders with the last speaker
and clasp shakers (the handtouch which is speech without words) and agree to
every word as  soon as  half  uttered, command  me!, your servant,  good,  I
revere you, how, my seer? be drinking that! quite truth, gratias, I'm yoush,
see  wha'm hearing?, also  goods, please  it, me  sure?,  be filling  this!,
quiso, you said it, apasafello, muchas grassyass, is there firing-on-me?, is
their  girlic-on-you?,  to  your good  self, your sulphur,  and then at once
focuss his whole unbalanced  attention upon the next octagonist  who managed
to  catch a  listener's  eye, asking  and imploring him  out  of his piteous
onewinker, (hemoptysia  diadumenos) whether  there was anything in the world
he could do  to please him and to overflow  his tumbletantaliser for him yet
once more.
     One  hailcannon  night (for  his  departure  was attended  by  a  heavy
downpour) as very recently  as  some  thousand rains  ago he  was  therefore
treated  with  what closely resembled parsonal  violence, being  soggert all
unsuspectingly through the deserted  village of Tumblin-on-the-Leafy from Mr
Vanhomrigh's house at 81 bis Mabbot's Mall as far as Green  Patch beyond the
brickfields of Salmon  Pool by rival teams of slowspiers counter quicklimers
who finally, as rahilly they had been deteened out rawther laetich, thought,
busnis  hits  busnis,  they  had  better be  streaking for  home after their
Auborne-to-Auborne,with  thanks  for  the  pleasant  evening,  one  and  all
disgustedly, instead of ruggering him  back, and  awake, reconciled  (though
they  were as jealous as could be  cullions  about all the truffles they had
brought on him) to a friendship, fast and furious, which merely arose out of
the noxious pervert's  perfect lowness. Again there was a  hope that people,
looking on him with the contemp of the contempibles, after first  gaving him
a roll in  the dirt, might pity and forgive him,  if properly  deloused, but
the pleb was born a Quicklow and sank alowing till he stank out of sight.
     All  Saints beat Belial! Mickil  Goals to Nichil! Notpossible! Already?
In Nowhere has yet the Whole World taken part of himself for his
     Wife; By Nowhere have Poorparents been sentenced to Worms, Blood and
     Thunder  for Life Not yet has the Emp from Corpsica forced the Arth out
of Engleterre; Not yet have  the  Sachsen and Judder on  the Mound of a Word
made
     Warre; Not yet Witchywithcy of Wench struck Fire of his Heath from on
     Hoath;  Not  yet  his  Arcobaleine  forespoken  Peacepeace  upon  Oath;
Cleftfoot from Hempal must tumpel, Blamefool Gardener's bound to
     fall; Broken Eggs will poursuive bitten Apples for where theirs is Will
     there's his  Wall; But the Mountstill  frowns  on the Millstream  while
their Madsons
     leap his Bier And her  Rillstrill liffs to  His  Murkesty all her  daft
Daughters laff
     in her Ear. Till the four Shores of deff Tory Island let the douze dumm
Eire
     whiggs raille! Hirp!  Hirp! for their Missed Understandings! chirps the
Ballat of
     Perce-Oreille.
     O fortunous casualitas! Lefty takes the cherubcake while  Rights cloves
his  hoof  Darkies  never  done tug that  coon  out to  play  non-excretory,
anti-sexuous, misoxenetic, gaasy  pure, flesh  and blood games, written  and
composed and sung  and danced by Niscemus  Nemon, same as piccaninnies  play
all  day,  those old  (none of your honeys and rubbers !) games for fun  and
element we used to play with Dina and  old Joe kicking her behind and before
and  the yellow  girl kicking  him behind old Joe, games  like Thom Thom the
Thonderman,  Put  the  Wind  up the Peeler,  Hat  in the Ring, Prisson  your
Pritchards and Play Withers Team, Mikel on the Luckypig, Nickel in the Slot,
Sheila Harnett  and  her Cow,  Adam and  Ell, Humble Bumble, Moggie's on the
Wall, Twos  and  Threes, American Jump, Fox  Come  out  of  your Den, Broken
Bottles,  Writing a  Letter to Punch, Tiptop is a Sweetstore, Henressy Crump
Expolled,  Postman's  Knock,  Are  We Fairlys  Represented?, Solomon  Silent
reading,  Appletree  Bearstone,  I know a Washerwoman, Hospitals, As  I  was
Walking,  There  is  Oneyone's  House in Dreamcolohour,  Battle of Waterloo,
Colours,  Eggs  in the Bush,  Habberdasherisher, Telling your Dreams, What's
the Time, Nap, Ducking Mammy, Last  Man Standing, Heali Baboon and the Forky
Theagues, Fickleyes and Futilears, Handmarried but  once in my Life and I'll
never commit such a Sin agin, Zip Cooney Candy, Turkey in the Straw, This is
the  Way  we sow the  Seed  of a  long  and lusty Morning,  Hops  of Fun  at
Miliken's  Make,  I seen  the Toothbrush with Pat Farrel,  Here's the Fat to
graze the  Priest's Boots, When his Steam was  like  a Raimbrandt round  Mac
Garvey.
     Now it is notoriously  known how  on that surprisingly bludgeony  Unity
Sunday  when the grand  germogall allstar  bout was harrily the rage between
our weltingtoms extraordinary and our pettythicks the  marshalaisy and Irish
eyes of welcome were smiling daggers down  their backs, when the  roth, vice
and blause met the noyr blank and rogues and the grim white and cold bet the
black fighting tans, categorically unimperatived  by the maxims, a rank funk
getting  the  better  of him, the scut  in a bad fit  of pyjamas fled like a
leveret  for his  bare lives,  to Talviland,  ahone  ahaza, pursued  by  the
scented  curses of  all the  village  belles and,  without having struck one
blow, (pig stole on  him was lust he lagging it was becaused  dust he shook)
kuskykorked himself up tight  in his inkbattle house,  badly the  worse  for
boosegas, there  to  stay in afar for the  life, where, as there  was  not a
moment to be lost, after he had boxed around with his fortepiano till he was
whole  bach bamp  him  and  bump him blues, he collapsed  carefully under  a
bedtick from Schwitzer's,  his face enveloped into a dead warrior's telemac,
with a lullobaw's somnbomnet and a whotwaterwottle at  his feet to stoke his
energy of waiting, moaning feebly, in monkmarian monotheme, but  tarned long
and then a nation louder, while engaged in swallowing from a large ampullar,
that  his  pawdry's  purgatory was  more than  a  nigger  bloke could  bear,
hemiparalysed  by  the tong  warfare and  all the shemozzle,  (Daily  Maily,
fullup  Lace! Holy Maly,  Mothelup Joss!) his  cheeks and trousers  changing
colour every time a gat croaked.
     How  is  that  for  low,  laities  and  gentlenuns?  Why,  dog  of  the
Crostiguns, whole continents  rang with this  Kairokorran lowness! Sheols of
houris in chems upon divans,  (revolted stellas vespertine vesamong them) at
a bare (O!) mention of the scaly rybald exclaimed: Poisse!
     But  would anyone,  short  of a madhouse, believe  it? Neither of those
clean  little cherubum, Nero or Nobookisonester himself, ever  nursed such a
spoiled opinion of his  monstrous marvellosity as did this mental and  moral
defective (here perhaps at the  vanessance of his  lownest) who was known to
grognt rather  than  gunnard  upon one  occasion, while  drinking heavily of
spirits to that  interlocutor a latere and private privysuckatary he used to
pal around  with,  in the kavehazs,  one Davy Browne-Nowlan,  his heavenlaid
twin,  (this hambone  dogpoet pseudoed himself under  the  hangname  he gave
himself of Bethgelert)  in  the  porchway  of  a  gipsy's bar  (Shem  always
blaspheming, so holy writ, Billy, he would try, old Belly, and  pay this one
manjack  congregant of his four soups every lass of nexmouth, Bolly, so sure
as thair's a tail on  a commet, as a taste  for storik's fortytooth, that is
to  stay,  to  listen  out,  ony  twenny  minnies  moe, Bully,  his  Ballade
Imaginaire which was to be  dubbed Wine, Woman and Waterclocks, or How a Guy
Finks  and  Fawkes When He  Is Going Batty, by Maistre Sheames de  la Plume,
some most dreadful stuff in a murderous mirrorhand) that he was avoopf (parn
me!) aware of  no other  shaggspick, other  Shakhisbeard,  either  prexactly
unlike his polar andthisishis or procisely the seem as woops (parn!) as what
he fancied  or guessed the  sames  as he was  himself and that, greet scoot,
duckings and thuggery, though he was foxed fux to fux like a bunnyboy rodger
with all the teashop lionses of Lumdrum hivanhoesed up gagainst him, being a
lapsis linquo  with a  ruvidubb shortartempa,  bad  cad dad fad  sad mad nad
vanhaty bear,  the consciquenchers  of  casuality  prepestered crusswords in
postposition,  scruff,  scruffer, scrufferumurraimost andallthatsortofthing,
if  reams stood to  reason and  his lankalivline lasted he  would wipe alley
english spooker, multaphoniaksically spuking, off the face of the erse.
     After  the  thorough fright he  got that bloody, Swithun's day,  though
every doorpost in muchtried Lucalizod  was  smeared  with  generous erstborn
gore  and every free  for all cobbleway  slippery with the bloods of heroes,
crying  to Welkins for others, and noahs  and cul verts agush with tears  of
joy, our  low waster  never  had the common baalamb's  pluck to stir out and
about the compound while everyone else of the torchlit throng, slashers  and
sliced alike,  mobbu on massa,  waaded and  baaded around, yampyam  pampyam,
chanting the Gillooly chorus, from the Monster Book of  Paltryattic Puetrie,
O pura e pia bella! in junk et sampam or in secular sinkalarum, heads up, on
his  bonafide avocation  (the little  folk creeping on  all  fours to  their
natural  school treat  but childishly gleeful  when a stray whizzer sang out
intermediately)  and happy belongers to the fairer sex on their usual  quest
for  higher things, but  vying with  Lady  Smythe  to avenge MacJobber, went
stonestepping  with their bickerrstaffs  on  educated feet,  plinkity plonk,
across  the sevenspan  ponte dei  colori  set  up  over  the slop after  the
war-to-end war by Messrs a charitable government for the only once (dia dose
Finnados!) he  did take a tompip peepestrella  throug  a threedraw  eighteen
hawkspower durdicky telescope, luminous to larbourd only like  the lamps  in
Nassaustrass, out of his westernmost keyhole, spitting at  the impenetrablum
wetter,  (and it was porcoghastly that outumn) with an  eachway hope in  his
shivering  soul, as he prayed  to the cloud Incertitude, of finding  out for
himself, on  akkount  of all the kules  in Kroukaparka or  oving to all  the
kodseoggs in  Kalatavala, whether true  conciliation  was  forging ahead  or
falling back  after the  celestious intemperance and, for Duvvelsache,  why,
with his see me see and his my see a corves and his frokerfoskerfuskar layen
loves in  meeingseeing, he got the charm of  his optical  life when he found
himself (hic sunt lennones!) at pointblank range blinking down the barrel of
an irregular  revolver of the bulldog with a  purpose pattern, handled by an
unknown quarreler who, supposedly, had been told off  to shade and shoot shy
Shem should the shit show his shiny shnout out awhile to look facts in their
face before being hosed and creased (uprip and jack him !) by six or a dozen
of the gayboys.
     What, para Saom Plaom, in the names  of Deucalion and  Pyrrha, and  the
incensed privy and the  licensed pantry gods and Stator and Victor  and Kutt
and Runn and the whole mesa redonda of Lorencao  Otulass in convocacaon, was
this  disinterestingly low human  type, this  Calumnious Column of Cloaxity,
this Bengalese  Beacon of Biloxity,  this Annamite Aper of Atroxity,  really
at, it will be precise to quarify, for he seems in a badbad case?
     The answer, to do  all  the  diddies  in  one  dedal, would sound: from
pulling himself  on his  most  flavoured  canal the huge  chesthouse  of his
elders  (the Popapreta, and  some navico, navvies!) he  had flickered up and
flinnered  down into a  drug and drunkery  addict,  growing  megalomane of a
loose past. This explains the litany of septuncial lettertrumpets honorific,
highpitched,  erudite, neoclassical,which he  so  loved  as  patricianly  to
manuscribe  after  his  name.  It  would   have  diverted,if  ever  seen,the
shuddersome spectacle of this semidemented zany  amid  the inspissated grime
of his glaucous  den making  believe  to read  his usylessly unreadable Blue
Book of Eccles, ‚dition de t‚nŠbres, (even yet sighs the Most Different, Dr.
Poindejenk,  authorised  bowdler and censor, it can't  be repeated!) turning
over three sheets at  a  wind,  telling himself delightedly, no espellor mor
so, that every splurge on the vellum he blundered over was an aisling vision
more gorgeous than the one before t.i.t.s., a roseschelle cottage by the sea
for  nothing for ever, a ladies tryon hosiery raffle at liberty, a  sewerful
of guineagold wine with brancomongepadenopie and sickcylinder  oysters worth
a billion a bite,  an  entire operahouse (there was to be stamping room only
in  the  prompter's  box  and  everthemore  his  queque  kept  swelling)  of
enthusiastic noblewomen flinging every  coronetcrimsoned stitch they had off
at his probscenium,one after  the  others,  inamagoaded into  ajustilloosing
themselves,  in their  gaiety pantheomime, when, egad,  sir, acordant to all
acountstrick,  he  squealed  the topsquall im  Deal  Lil  Shemlockup  Yellin
(geewhiz, jew ear  that  far!  soap ewer! loutgout of sabaous! juice like  a
boyd!) for fully five minutes,infinitely better than Baraton Mc Gluckin with
a scrumptious  cocked  hat  and  three green,  cheese  and tangerine trinity
plumes on the  right handle side  of his amarellous head,  a coat macfarlane
(the  kerssest  cut,  you  understand?)  a sponiard's  digger  at  his ribs,
(Alfaiate punxit) an  azulblu  blowsheet for  his blousebosom  blossom and a
dean's  crozier  that  he  won  from  Cardinal  Lindundarri   and   Cardinal
Carchingarri and Cardinal Loriotuli and Cardinal Occidentaccia (ah  ho!)  in
the dearby darby doubled for falling first over the  hurdles, madam, in  the
odder hand, a.a.t.s.o.t.,  but what with the murky light, the botchy  print,
the  tattered   cover,  the  jigjagged  page,  the  fumbling   fingers,  the
foxtrotting fleas, the lieabed lice, the scum on his tongue, the drop in his
eye, the lump in  his throat, the drink in his pottle, the itch in his palm,
the wail of his wind, the grief from his breath, the fog of his mindfag, the
buzz in  his braintree,  the tic of his  conscience, the height up his rage,
the gush down  his fundament, the fire in his gorge, the tickle of his tail,
the bane in his bullugs, the squince in his suil, the rot in  his eater, the
ycho in his earer, the totters of his toes, the tetters on his tumtytum, the
rats in his  garret, the bats in his belfry, the budgerigars  and bumbosolom
beaubirds, the hullabaloo and the dust in his ears since it took him a month
to steal a march he was hardset to mumorise more than a word  a week. Hake's
haulin!  Hook's  fisk! Can you beat  it? Whawe! I say,  can you bait it? Was
there ever heard of such lowdown blackguardism? Positively it woolies one to
think over it.
     Yet  the bumpersprinkler used to  boast  aloud alone to  himself with a
haccent on it when Mynfadher was  a  boer  constructor and Hoy was a lexical
student, parole, and corrected with the blackboard (trying to copy the stage
Englesemen he broughts their house down on, shouting: Bravure, surr Chorles!
Letter purfect! Culossal, Loose Wallor! Spache!) how he had been toed out of
all the schicker  families of the klondykers from  Pioupioureich, Swabspays,
the  land of Nod, Shruggers' Country, Pension Danubierhome and Barbaropolis,
who had settled  and  stratified in  the capital city  after its hebdomodary
metropoliarchialisation  as  sunblistered,  moonplastered,  gory, wheedling,
joviale, litcherous and full,  ordered  off  the gorgeous  premises  in most
cases on account  of his  smell which all cookmaids eminently objected to as
ressembling the bombinubble puzzo  that welled out  of the pozzo. Instead of
chuthoring those model households plain wholesome pothooks (a thing he never
possessed of his Nigerian own)  what do you  think Vulgariano  did but study
with stolen fruit how cutely to copy  all  their various styles of signature
so as one  day to utter an epical forged  cheque  on the public for  his own
private profit  until, as just related, the Dustbin's United  Scullerymaid's
and Househelp's  Sorority,  better known  as Sluttery's Mowlted Futt, turned
him down and assisted nature by unitedly shoeing the source of annoyance out
of the  place altogether  and taytotally on the heat of the moment,  holding
one another's gonk  (for  no-one, hound or  scrublady,  not  even  the Turk,
ungreekable in purscent  of the armenable, dared  whiff the polecat at close
range)  and  making  some  pointopointing  remarks as they  done  so at  the
perfects of the Sniffey, your honour, aboon the lyow why a stunk, mister.
     [Jymes  wishes to hear  from  wearers  of  abandoned  female  costumes,
gratefully  received, wadmel  jumper,  rather  full  pair  of  culottes  and
onthergarmenteries,  to start city life together. His  jymes is  out of job,
would sit and write. He has lately commited one of the then commandments but
she will now assist. Superior built, domestic, regular  layer.  Also got the
boot. He appreciates it. Copies. ABORTISEMENT.]
     One cannot even begin to post  figure out  a statuesquo ante  as to how
slow in reality the excommunicated Drumcondriac, nate Hamis, really was. Who
can say how many  pseudostylic shamiana, how  few or how  many  of  the most
venerated  public impostures,  how  very  many  piously  forged  palimpsests
slipped in the first place by this morbid process from his pelagiarist pen?
     Be that as it may, but for that light phantastic of his gnose's glow as
it slid lucifericiously  within an  inch of its page  (he would touch at its
from time to other, the  red eye of his fear in saddishness,  to  ensign the
colours by  the beerlitz in his  mathness and  his educandees  to  outhue to
themselves  in the  cries  of girlglee:  gember !  inkware !  chonchambre  !
cinsero !  zinnzabar !  tincture and gin!) Nibs never  would  have quilled a
seriph to sheepskin. By that rosy lampoon's effluvious burning and with help
of the simulchronic flush in his pann (a ghinee a ghirk he ghets there!)  he
scrabbled and scratched and  scriobbled and skrevened nameless shamelessness
about everybody ever he met, even sharing  a precipitation under the  idlish
tarriers'  umbrella  of  a  showerproof wall, while all over up and down the
four margins  of this rancid Shem stuff  the evilsmeller (who was devoted to
Uldfadar  Sardanapalus)  used  to stipple endlessly inartistic portraits  of
himself in the act of reciting old Nichiabelli's monolook interyerear Hanno,
o  Nonanno,  acce'l  brubblemm'as,  ser Autore,  q.e.d.,  a  heartbreakingly
handsome  young  paolo  with  love  lyrics  for  the goyls in  his eyols,  a
plaintiff's  tanner  vuice, a  jucal inkome of  one  hundred  and  thirtytwo
dranchmas per  yard from Broken Hill stranded  estate,  Camebreech mannings,
cutting a great dash  in  a  brandnew  two guinea dress  suit  and a  burled
hogsford hired for a Fursday  evenin merry pawty, anna loavely long pair  of
inky Italian moostarshes glistering with boric vaseline and frangipani. Puh!
How unwhisperably so!
     The  house   O'Shea  or  O'Shame,  Quivapieno,  known  as  the  Haunted
Inkbottle, no  number Brimstone Walk, Asia in Ireland,  as  it  was infested
with the  raps, with his penname  SHUT sepiascraped on  the doorplate  and a
blind  of  black   sailcloth   over  its  wan  phwinshogue,  in  which   the
soulcontracted son of the secret cell groped through  life at the expense of
the taxpayers, dejected into day and night with jesuit bark and bitter bite,
calicohydrants of zolfor  and scoppialamina by  full  and forty Queasisanos,
every  day in everyone's  way more  exceeding  in violent  abuse of self and
others, was the worst, it is hoped, even in our western playboyish world for
pure mousefarm filth. You brag of your  brass castle  or your tyled house in
ballyfermont?  Niggs, niggs  and  niggs  again. For  this  was  a  stinksome
inkenstink,  quite puzzonal  to  the  wrottel. Smatterafact,  Angles aftanon
browsing there  thought  not Edam  reeked  more rare. My  wud  !  The warped
flooring of the lair and soundconducting walls  thereof, to  say nothing  of
the uprights and imposts, were persianly literatured with burst loveletters,
telltale stories, stickyback  snaps, doubtful  eggshells, bouchers,  flints,
borers,  puffers,  amygdaloid  almonds,  rindless  raisins, alphybettyformed
verbage,  vivlical viasses, ompiter dictas, visus umbique, ahems and  ahahs,
imeffible tries at  speech unasyllabled, you owe  mes,  eyoldhyms,  fluefoul
smut, fallen lucifers, vestas which had served, showered ornaments, borrowed
brogues,  reversibles  jackets,  blackeye  lenses,  family  jars,  falsehair
shirts,   Godforsaken   scapulars,  neverworn  breeches,   cutthroat   ties,
counterfeit franks, best  intentions,  curried notes, upset latten tintacks,
unused  mill   and  stumpling  stones,  twisted   quills,  painful  digests,
magnifying wineglasses, solid  objects cast  at  goblins, once current puns,
quashed  quotatoes,  messes of mottage, unquestionable issue  papers,  seedy
ejaculations,  limerick  damns, crocodile tears,  spilt  ink,  blasphematory
spits,   stale   shestnuts,   schoolgirl's,   young   ladies,    milkmaids',
washerwomen's, shopkeepers' wives, merry widows',  ex  nuns', vice abbess's,
pro   virgins',   super   whores',   silent  sisters',   Charleys'   aunts',
grandmothers', mothers'-in-laws,fostermothers',  godmothers' garters,  tress
clippings from right, lift and  cintrum, worms  of snot, toothsome pickings,
cans of Swiss condensed  bilk, highbrow lotions, kisses from  the antipodes,
presents  from pickpockets,  borrowed plumes, relaxable  handgrips, princess
promises,   lees   of   whine,  deoxodised   carbons,  convertible  collars,
diviliouker  doffers, broken wafers, unloosed  shoe latchets, crooked strait
waistcoats, fresh horrors from Hades, globules of  mercury, undeleted glete,
glass eyes  for an eye,  gloss teeth for a tooth, war moans, special  sighs,
longsufferings of  longstanding,  ahs ohs ouis sis  jas  jos gias neys thaws
sos, yeses and yeses and yeses, to which,  if one has the stomach to add the
breakages,  upheavals distortions, inversions of  all this chambermade music
one stands, given  a grain of goodwill, a fair chance of actually seeing the
whirling  dervish, Tumult,  son of Thunder, self  exiled in upon  his  ego,a
nightlong a shaking betwixtween white or reddr hawrors, noondayterrorised to
skin and bone by  an ineluctable phantom (may the Shaper have mercery on him
!) writing the mystery of himsel in furniture.
     Of course our low hero was  a self  valeter by choice of need  so up he
got   up  whatever  is   meant   by  a   stourbridge  clay  kitchenette  and
lithargogalenu fowlhouse for the sake of akes (the umpple does not fall very
far from the dumpertree) which the moromelodious  jigsmith,  in defiance  of
the  Uncontrollable Birth  Preservativation  (Game and Poultry) Act, playing
lallaryrook cookerynook, by the dodginess of his lentern, brooled and cocked
and  potched  in an  athanor, whites and  yolks and yilks and  whotes to the
frulling  fredonnance of Mas blanca que la blanca  hermana and Amarilla, muy
bien, with cinnamon and locusts and wild beeswax and liquorice and Carrageen
moss and  blaster of Barry's  and  Asther's  mess and  Huster's micture  and
Yellownan's embrocation  and  Pinkingtone's patty and  stardust and sinner's
tears, acuredent to Sharadan's Art  of Panning, chanting,  for all regale to
the like of the legs he left behind  with  Litty  fun  Letty  fan Leven, his
cantraps of fermented words, abracadabra  calubra culorum, (his oewfs ... la
Madame Gabrielle de l'Eglise, his  avgs ... la Mistress  B. de B. Meinfelde,
his eiers Usquadmala ... la pomme de ciel, his uoves, oves and  uves  ... la
Sulphate  de  Soude, his ochiuri  sowtay  sowmmonay  a  la Monseigneur,  his
soufflosion  of  oogs  with  somekat  on  toyast  ...  la  MŠre  Puard,  his
Poggadovies  alla Fenella, his Frideggs ...  la Tricarˆme) in what was meant
for a closet (Ah ho! If only he had listened better to the four masters that
infanted  him  Father Mathew  and Le PŠre  Noble  and Pastor Lucas and Padre
Aguilar--not  forgetting Layteacher  Baudwin!  Ah  ho!) His costive  Satan's
antimonian manganese  limolitmious nature  never  needed  such an alcove so,
when Robber and Mumsell, the pulpic dictators,on the nudgment of their legal
advisers,  Messrs Codex  and Podex, and under his  own benefiction  of their
pastor Father Flammeus Falconer, boycotted him of all muttonsuet candles and
romeruled stationery for any purpose, he winged  away on  a wildgoup's chase
across  the kathartic  ocean and made synthetic ink and sensitive  paper for
his own  end out of his wit's waste. You  ask,  in Sam Hill, how? Let manner
and  matter of  this for  these our  sporting  times be  cloaked  up in  the
language of blushfed porporates that an  Anglican  ordinal,  not reading his
own rude dunsky tunga, may ever  behold the brand of scarlet on the brow  of
her of Babylon and feel not the pink one in his own damned cheek.
     Primum  opifex,  altus prosator, ad terram viviparam et  cunctipotentem
sine  ullo pudore nec venia, suscepto pluviali atque discinctis perizomatis,
natibus  nudis uti  nati fuissent, sese adpropinquans,  flens  et gemens, in
manum suam  evacuavit (highly prosy,  crap  in  his  hand, sorry!),  postea,
animale   nigro  exoneratus,  classicum  pulsans,  stercus  proprium,   quod
appellavit deiectiones suas, in vas olim honorabile tristitiae posuit, eodem
sub  invocatione fratrorum geminorum  Medardi et Godardi  laete ac melliflue
minxit,psalmum qui incipit: Lingua mea calamus scribae velociter scribentis:
magna voce  cantitans  (did  a  piss,  says he  was  dejected,  asks  to  be
exonerated),  demum  ex stercore turpi cum divi Orionis  iucunditate  mixto,
cocto, frigorique exposito, encaustum sibi fecit indelibile (faked O'Ryan's,
the indelible ink).
     Then, pious Eneas, conformant to thc fulminant firman which enjoins  on
the  tremylose  terrian  that,   when  the  call  comes,  he  shall  produce
nichthemerically from his unheavenly body a no uncertain quantity of obscene
matter not protected by copriright in the United Stars  of Ourania or bedeed
and bedood and bedang and bedung to him, with this  double  dye, brought  to
blood heat, gallic  acid  on iron  ore, through the  bowels  of his  misery,
flashly,  faithly,  nastily, appropriately,  this  Esuan Menschavik and  the
first till last alshemist wrote over every square inch  of the only foolscap
available, his own body, till  by  its  corrosive sublimation o