Orthoepy in O

Orthoepy in O

It seems like just yesterday I saw an orthoepist trying to pronounce his role. What a silly man with his Vinnie Delpino haircut and his obvious Buck Rogers “how do you do.” He would sit in his oubliette eating omelets while cursing the Mayan’s and their word “bub” for its undeniable complexity. He dreamed of a day when he could fashion osmium from orris and oust those Mayans from Ouagodougou. It was a lofty plan, but he imagined otherwise; of course, he was usually sauced on ouzo. Generally speaking he was an oenophile but he loved that sweet flavor of ouzo and its odoriferousness. He thanked the Grecians for their creation often, calling them outstanding and other words starting with “O.” Besides, intoxicants were the only way he could ignore the obnoxious warbles of the odious ovenbird which nested outside his dungeon. There are oodles of ovenbirds in Ottawa, enough to make him loathe ornithology. So he would ossify oatmeal and stone the ovenbirds, but most people saw this as ostentatious. Occasionally I still hear of the orthoepist and his obstreperous occupation. It seems he’s simply over-anxious about being an octoroon.