Even, if, the, journalist/random word generator, that, wrote, this, hadn’t, put, a, comma, after, pretty, much, every, fucking, word, it would still make absolutely no sense. Well done. You just made the English language cry.
Monday, 5 April 2010
Dear Lord, What Are You Talking About?
The below is an excerpt from Cliché magazine. We are not posting this solely to ridicule it, although that is an added bonus, but more as a plea to whoever wrote it to NEVER put pen to paper again. Christ.
Even, if, the, journalist/random word generator, that, wrote, this, hadn’t, put, a, comma, after, pretty, much, every, fucking, word, it would still make absolutely no sense. Well done. You just made the English language cry.
Even, if, the, journalist/random word generator, that, wrote, this, hadn’t, put, a, comma, after, pretty, much, every, fucking, word, it would still make absolutely no sense. Well done. You just made the English language cry.
Labels:
bad language,
cliche,
terrible music journalism,
the upright
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*Hands the English language a box of Kleenex and trundles off to "create a concrete shell" around an excelling artist...*
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