From an objective standpoint this language is noted for the following idiosyncrasies: a self-evident, obvious, and ridiculous silliness, which is evident to anyone who takes more than a moment to think about any random word in English, and which likewise gives the tongue a great deal of comedic potential. Everything is hilarious in English because English itself is inherently hilarious, and only one step removed from the most eloquent gibberish anyone could ever imagine. It is often a wonder that the most serious politicians and philosophers do not burst out laughing when they make speeches or give lectures on such important subjects as tort reform or the categorical imperative. If you cannot tell, the author of this brief monograph has been giggling maniacally through the entirety of its composition; young learners laugh to a flushed exhaustion when they hear their first English words.
English is also a barbaric language which originated somewhere in the forests of northern Europe, perhaps in a porcupine burrow or an abandoned bear’s den, and migrated, with the help of certain axe-laden Saxons, to England, then given the far more Latin-ish and therefore far more euphonious name of Albion. When it arrived it spent several centuries rolling around in the mud with the pigs and the cows, in the process gaining its noted scatological aspects so often noticed by those many foreigners who undertake the English adventure; after the Norman conquest the English nobility spoke that luscious, amorous, and most delightful tongue, French, leaving the town whores / bicycles and the bumbling rotundities who called at their brothels to warp and mangle whatever remained of their own tattered tongue. During the European Age of Discovery it was further corrupted by the accents of many divers and sundry barbarians from all over the planet, and while certain infamous poets attempted to wield this sticky, garrulous, and grotesque glob of words into something beautiful, the verdict of history is unanimous and resounding: theirs was a complete failure.
Therefore the modern world language of business, science, diplomacy, tourism, and air traffic controllers is still widely acknowledged to have a deeply unpleasant stink of the overflowing outhouse to it, ringing of milky sow’s tits, cowslip’s bells, piss-drenched barley, and other pleasant components of the medieval farm. It is often said that to utter even a single English word is to give oneself terrible breath.