Onomatopoeia

// Drama On The Farm

By Jake Dubs .
01.24.10 // Onomatopoeia

It all started with a knock.

Cow walked over to the barn door. She opened it with her teeth.

Duck barged in, feathers ruffled, voice hoarse. He had a crazy gleam in his eye.

“Quack, quack,” he said, frantically.

“Moo,” said the cow. “Moooooooooo.”

Dog walked over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Bark?” he asked, perplexed.

Cat leaped down from her perch on the upper level.

“Meow?” she said. “Meow??”

“Quack, quack, quack.” The duck was in a panic. Upset and disheveled, he put his head down.

“Bahhhh.”

Goat came over.

Just then, there was another knock on the door. “Bark, bark, bark!” Dog shouted.

“Meow.”

“Bahhh,” said the goat, more agitated this time.

Chicken walked in, solemly. She was visibly upset.

“Buk Buk,” she said, softly, glaring at Duck.

“Neigh,” Horse followed her in with her head down.

The animals were angry.

“Meow!”

“Moo!”

“Bark!”

“Neigh,” said Horse, looking at Chicken pleadingly. “Neighhhhhh.”

Until about 15 minutes ago, they had been best friends.

Now Chicken was angry.

“Buk buk!” she screamed, lunging at Horse. Horse tried to get away from her, bucking up, pushing back into the wall.

“Buk buk buk buk!”

“Bahhh,” said Goat, trying to push Chicken off of Horse.

“Meow,” said cat, soothingly, trying to calm Chicken down.

Duck was in the corner with his head down.

Chicken’s anger subsided. She looked over at him.

“Buk Buk,” said Chicken. “….Buk Buk.”

She strode over to the door and out into the sunshine.

She tried flying away. But she couldn’t. She was just a chicken. So she walked.

No one ever heard from her again.

THE END.

View Comments / Jan 24.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Jake Dubs

// I love technology. But it’s going to evolve us all.

By Ben Cheney .
01.23.10 // Onomatopoeia

Technology is great.  I love it.  I love programmable coffee makers, and basketballs that have pumps hidden inside their air filled cavities, and Baby Alive, and electric vehicles that will save the world with Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Classmates.com, and singing greeting cards, and calculator watches, and, and, and!  I could go on forever.  F-O-R-E-V-E-R.

But I won’t because technology is actually the worst thing that ever happened to human civilization.  It is nothing but trouble and a bunch of hullabaloo to boot.  That toaster that burns the image of Sally Struthers into my bread is nice, especially when I get to smear chunky peanut butter all over her curly blonde locks.  But it is damning.  Damning, because we are already teetering on the edge of insanity.  We perceive these little inventions to make our lives a little bit simpler, our days a little bit brighter.  But that’s because we don’t realize that, in reality, the whole lot of them is slamming us into the ground again and again with a fist of stupidity and lick of ferocity.

We have become slaves to this monster.  We have invited him into our lives, set him a place at our dinner tables, and made sure his seat in the car has air bags.  This is figurative, of course, I would never let a monster eat at my table.  But it shows our complete reliance on and integration with technology and hints at the perils of being in 3D.

We will evolve around technology.  In fact, we have already begun doing so.  Our behaviors have certainly evolved to revolve around technology.  Our bodies will no doubt evolve based on the positions we find ourselves in and the activities we find ourselves doing most frequently, i.e. sitting at a computer and playing Wii.  And the English language is evolving with new words, such as Google and wave pool.

As I said before, I love technology.  I think it’s terrific.  I will champion the advance of it till it kills us all.  But I’m scared.  I’m scare of where it will take us.  I’m scared of who it will make us.  This is my ultimate fear — one day I will tell my grandchildren a story about the holes in my ears that they will find funny.  They will laugh, but I won’t recognize the LOLs that are coming out of their mouths.

View Comments / Jan 23.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Ben Cheney

// Sounds good.

By Tristan Smith .
01.22.10 // Onomatopoeia, Uncategorized

So thought occurred to me

how does the whole onomatopoeia situation work in other languages?

Right?

So, courtesy of Google translate, let’s take a quick tour around the world of funny words.

Whoosh in German is “zack”. I think people named Zach are slow, so this does not work for me.

Rustle in Portuguese is “farfalhar”. This sounds mysterious and devious, like someone creeping in the bushes. It also sounds like the sound of fried chickpeas, which is clever.

Bubble in Polish is “gul gul”. The Poles nailed it on this one. Onomatopoeia in a different language, and it sounds more threatening than bubble. B is a very unthreatening letter, while G is an axe wielding hun.

Tinkle in Hungarian is “hálózat”. I think this is best. “The china made a soft halozat as it was placed in the drawer.” Now that’s writing. THAT’S language.

View Comments / Jan 22.10 / Onomatopoeia, Uncategorized / by Tristan Smith

// Breakfast Cereal: The Lost Tapes

By Julie Matheny .
01.22.10 // Onomatopoeia

Snap, Crackle and Pop were three onomatopoeia’s personified to sell the most boring breakfast food in the Universe.  And as stupid as those little elves may seem today, touting Rice Krispies as “the cereal that talked” was probably the first brilliant example of parity product differentiation in recent history.  And it’s not like they even needed to do it.  It was The Great Depression.  Everybody knows the 1930s wasn’t exactly rife with culinary delight.  I’m pretty sure all you had to put on the box to sell it was the word “Edible.”

Unfortunately, the ad guys got it a bit wrong. Rice Krispies don’t really talk.  They just recite their names, over and over again.  And unless you’re in the middle of roll call at a Napoleon Dynamite club meeting, saying your name while being doused with milk isn’t really that impressive.

If I had it my way, cereal conversation would evolve.  Flakes wouldn’t just identify themselves.  Instead, they’d offer helpful, sound advice in the form of engaging conversation.

Like Cocoa Puffs, for instance:
“Hey Jeremy, what are those lollipops for?”
“My friends.”
CRUNCH
“But you’re 42.”
“I love my friends.”
“What did we say about touching the children?”

Or, Fiber One:
“…and so I said, you can take those quarterly projections and put them where the sun don’t shine!”
“Good for you, sir.  It’s about time you retired anyway.”
“Um…I’ll be back in five.”
“Toilet seat down this time, Doug.”

And, my personal favorite, Special K Redberries:

“Second bowl today.  Can’t get enough of me, eh?”
“Just following directions.”
“You know my promise to help you lose two pounds only works with one bowl, right?
“The package said two meals a day.”
“Yes. Two separate meals. ”
“You must have a bad memory.  I haven’t seen you in, like…forever.”
“Julie…”
“Yes?”
“The next time you lie to me, at least make sure you change the milk.”

Yeah…on second thought, maybe I’ll just stick with the dumb cereal.

View Comments / Jan 22.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Julie Matheny

// My morning with Flu

By EricaPressly .
01.21.10 // Onomatopoeia

View Comments / Jan 21.10 / Onomatopoeia / by EricaPressly

// Boom!

By Todd Lamb .
01.20.10 // Onomatopoeia

View Comments / Jan 20.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Todd Lamb

// The Grammatical Princess of Poughkeepsie

By Charles Hodges .
01.20.10 // Onomatopoeia

You know what onomatopoeia is?  A hypocrite.  Do you know why?  Because onomatopoeia isn’t an example of onomatopoeia.

“But it’s Greek for ‘name I make,’” says the 46-year-old Greek teacher who hasn’t bought a new car since the Carter administration.

No one cares what it stands for, dude.  It’s a hypocrite.  Would I listen to an overweight fitness instructor?  What about a tax lawyer that hates to play monopoly?  A exterminator that keeps rats as pets?  No, no, no.  I don’t think so.  So why would I pay attention to a word that doesn’t even follow its own meaning?  The answer is that I wouldn’t.  And I don’t.

At it’s best, onomatopoeia is spineless nomenclature.  At its worst, it is the cause of the George Lopez show.

I know what you’re thinking.  “This topic is fucking stupid.”  Guess what?  You’re right.  But it’s double fucking stupid because it’s stupid in the real world as well.

Onomatopoeia is the dad that shows up to the soccer game in tight sweatpants that no word wants to call a father, no letter wants to call a home.  It is a “uncountable noun”, which means it shares grammatical real estate with blood, graffiti and luggage.

Nice company, onomatopoeia.

Now, again, I know what you’re thinking.  “Well then what would you call onomatopoeia so that it wasn’t a hypocrite?”  The answer? I’d call it Snooki.  Why?  Because it’s stupid, most people don’t know what it means, and they would be far better off never encountering it.

View Comments / Jan 20.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Charles Hodges

// Onomatopoeia And Pudding

By Joey Camire .
01.19.10 // Onomatopoeia

View Comments / Jan 19.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Joey Camire

// The Adam West Effect

By Alex Aloise .
01.18.10 // Onomatopoeia

It wasn’t much of a secret to anyone who knew our family. We Neidhardts just didn’t have much money. At all. Both of my parents had to work two jobs which meant that I was usually on my own at home, just me and the TV. Unfortunately, being so poor also meant not being able to afford cable, and for whatever reason no set of Rabbit Ears could ever pick up a network. So all I had growing up were Dad’s old tapes of the original BATMAN TV show.

As anyone who’s ever seen the show can attest, it was filled with “BAMs” “POWs” and “ZLOTs.” Of course, since I spent most of my waking hours watching it, my vocabulary was also filled with “BAMs” “POWs” and “ZLOTs.” I began verbalizing the sounds to every. single. move. I made. The doctors had never seen anything quite like it before. They dubbed my condition, Gotham Tourette’s.

Most parents try to teach their children not to eat with their mouths full. I could never stop myself from screaming “CHOMP” upon every bite. I can’t even count how many times I was kicked out of classrooms during tests for declaring “SQUIGGLE” each time I put pencil to paper. Have you ever scared away a potential girlfriend for sheepishly attempting to muffle a “BOOOOOIIIINNNGGG”? Because I have. Seven times. My disease has crippled my social life. I can’t go out to the movies. Nobody wants to hear me literally “GASP” and “SIGH” for two full hours. I can’t go for runs or jogs through the park without getting stares upon each of my “STEPS” and “THWOMPS.” I’ve even had to file for disability because I can’t keep a job without shouting “TYPE” 46 words per minutes.

As such, I spend my days now primarily in my home. I’ve isolated myself from the rest of the world. Only my neighbors are now subject to my outbursts. It’s a sad life. It’s no way to live. That’s why I’ve decided not too anymore.

To whomever finds this letter, please tell my story. Make sure that no one else ever falls victim to the nefarious ways of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. I thank you for reading this. I’m sorry.

Regrettably,
Marcus Neidhardt

“BANG!”

View Comments / Jan 18.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Alex Aloise