An old Facebook exchange.
It started when I posted, “All mimsy were the borogoves. Film at 11.”
A friend commented:
“Eh? what do you mean?”
“Eh? what do you mean?”
“Well,” I replied, “it all started with the slithy toves…”
“Multiple calls to 911 indicated that there were gyring and gymbling far beyond what is allowed in ye wabe by-laws.”
“Lost,” responded the bewildered friend.
I continued, “Neighbors report that when the Jabberwock came whiffling through the tulgey wood, they could hear the snicker-snacks of the vorpal blade which, according to police, was UNREGISTERED.”
“Witnesses saw a beamish white male gallumph away.”
At this point another friend got into the act.
“Those mome raths outgrabed themselves,” she pointed out helpfully.
“Yes,” I agreed. “That is always a potential danger when the weather turns to brillig.”
“We’re having a brillig wave. A tropical brillig wave…” she presumably sang as she typed it, although I can’t be sure as the exchange was all virtual.
Friend #3 joined in to let us know she was “chortling with joy.”
And I, I had to tell them, “I love this thread. It’s so… uffish.”
Apologies to Lewis Carroll.
