The great Welsh Pun Miners’ Strike of 1926 started at the Ygnnygyg Mine when a poorly placed Oxford comma support collapsed and buried a passageway under a pile of participles, clauses, and split infinitives.

Management was accused of hoarding their supply of pun-destroying grandmothers and other heavy excavating equipment, judging the trapped miners to be not worth rescuing. When the last gerunds were finally cleared away by work crews, it was found that all but one of them had died of vowel poisoning–especially damning as all the pun mines’ vowels except fom of the Ys were designated for export. The sole survivor, having been forced to subsist on stale humor for nearly a week, was left mad with pun-lust and eventually killed himself by hanging participle.

When the Ygnnygyg Mine operators refused the miners’ request for additional commas and vowel filters on breathing masks, violence broke out. Arming themselves with em dashes, semicolons, and ampersands, the miners blocked the clauses leading into the mine until their demands were met. The pun supply throughout Great Britain dried up, a shortage felt particularly keenly in bohemian and pun-happy London, where puns served with absinthe were all the rage at the time.

Eventually, the management brought in scabs and strikebreakers from Greece. Not speaking English, and using a different script, they were unaffected by the sarcasm, wit, pathos, and punctuation hurled at them by the strikers. By January of 1927 the mines were in operation again and the unrest was crushed.

It would take another ten years, until the explosive simile chain reaction at Metaphor Mine in Berkshire, for British law to begin changing to protect the lot of the humble vocabulary miners.

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No one saw it coming. Weren’t they notorious for their inability to compromise, their brutal tactics, their picking of fights? Weren’t they derided for their clumsiness and stupidity even as they claimed to represent purity and honor?

And yet, as the sun rose on that January morning, the Grammar Nazis had come to power. There was nothing now standing between them and a reign of pedantry and pettiness the likes of which the word had not seen since the French Vowel Wars, the vicious Orthography Reform of 1996, and of course the brutal Colon Revolution in San Serriffe. What could have possessed the people to hand over power to the Grammar Nazis and add themselves to that grim list?

Now had it come to this?

In retrospect, it’s clear that the depredations of the Grammar Communists had grown as of late. Txt spk, L337, ostent. abbrevs., all of them were rampant in the great democratization of language and spelling that accompanied the rise of the internet. In an age where “LOL AFK BRB K?” is considered a coherent sentence, some people clearly valued the security of their spelling more than the merciless pedantry openly promised by the Grammar Nazis in their election platform.

One thing is clear, though: the Oxford Comma is now enforced by iron maiden, dangling participles is punishable by guillotine, splitting infinitives will result in drawing and quartering, the passive voice will be met with active measures, and breaching the they’re/their/there or you’re/your/yore barrier will result in an appearance before the merciless elite units of the Grammar Guard.

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“Has the jury reached a verdict?” asked Judge Participle–who was widely regarded as a “hanging” judge.

“We have, your honor,” said the jury foreman, one Mr. Rigg. “On the first charge of willfully and knowingly unleashing wretched prose upon the nations of the earth, and inspiring copycats to do likewise, we the jury find the defendant Stemp Heinemeyer guilty.”

Stemp, seated at the defendant’s table, let out a moan and hung his head in his hands.

“On the second charge,” continued Rigg, “that of willfully and knowingly disregarding the rules of grammar as we know them, and the specific counts of Oxford comma violations, run-on sentencery, purple-proseity, et al, we the jury find the defendant guilty.”

Stemp moaned softly.

“And finally, on the third charge of willfully and knowingly profiteering from these crimes, we the jury find the defendant especially guilty,” Rigg finished.

Judge Participle struck his gavel forcefully. “Stemp Heinemeyer,” he said, “having been found guilty by a jury of your peers, by the power vested in me by the State of Construct, I hereby sentence you to life imprisonment in a third-rate science fiction novel to be determined at a later date.”

“No!” cried Stemp wildly. “Anything but that!”

The judge banged on his gavel once again. “Clear the courtroom!”

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“We’re not here about the misuse of commas or the outright abuse of possessive apostraphe-s in your ad copy. They have been cataloged and coded. We are also well aware of your use of the term ‘literally’ to mean ‘practically’ and ‘could care less’ to mean ‘couldn’t care less’ in both copy and casual conversation. No, Mr. Repard, we have convened this tribunal to discuss the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“Please, you don’t understand! It was just an ad!”

“Ads are still discourse, Mr. Repard, and they inform all discourse to come. For the tribunal: did you or did you not create an advertisement for, and I quote, ‘fuel-efficient tires?'”

“It was just an ad to sell tires!”

“May I remind you, Mr. Repard, that tires consume no fuel and therefore cannot be fuel efficient?”

“Please, I just meant that the tires increase the overall fuel efficiency of the vehicle! I had limited ad space!”

“If that’s what you meant, that’s what you should have said. The Semiotics Tribunal will now render its verdict.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty. Hereby sentenced to 18 months in the semicolon mines of San Serriffe. Dismissed!”

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Jimmy and his fellow club members used to troll the Omnipedia looking for righteous battle–wrongs that needed righting. The fact that none of them possessed more than a layman’s knowledge of history, sociology, or other popular topics was utterly beside the point.

There was always grammar and spelling.

Cam, for instance, went into a rage whenever he saw the word ’till’ used instead of ‘until.’ Which was a lot. “Tilling is something you do with farm dirt, not time!”

Then there was Remy, who’d taken it upon himself to add the rapidly-fading word ‘whom’ back into popular parlance, liberally sprinkling it across user-edited entries as esoteric as ‘Carcinogens’ or ‘The Panic of 1837.’

They all were united in an opposition to the sinister incursion of British spellings like ‘programme’ and ‘colour.’ “Just because the damn Brits conquered the world they think they can shove their unnecessary letters down our throats!” Jimmy had been heard to remark. The fact that there were equally active groups actively seeking to promulgate British wordiness only served to incite furious edit wars that seesawed back and forth for weeks.

And then things started getting out of hand.