That horror movie was like a Girl Scout camp. They were both pretty in tents.

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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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Laslo Sunseri hated the letter “M.” No one was quite sure why; perhaps it had something to do with the old Wonky M Ranch going under. Perhaps the day they had covered the letter “M” on Sesame Street had been a really bad one.

Laslo liked to hang out in the square, feeding the pigeons and telling anyone who would listen how much of a menace the letter was, always taking as much care as he could to never use the letter itself save to denigrate it.

One day Jamie Parkerson came to the square looking for Henry, his uncle. Henry was about the same height and the same age as Laslo and a bit of a pigeon-feeder himself, so Jamie approached the latter from behind, thinking it was his uncle.

“Umm…Mom wants to know if you want meatballs or mash for dinner,” Jamie said.

Whipping around, Lazlo startled the boy with the ferocity of his reply. “Don’t be so careless in using that accursed letter, boy!” he cried. “The letter ‘M’ is the tool of the devil! The letter ‘M’ is a pox upon our language! Call those beef spheres if you have to, call it potato pudding if you have to, but never, ever use the letter ‘M’ except to curse its foul sound to the heavens!”

Startled, the boy mumbled a reply and beat a hasty retreat.

“Who’s that?” said a concerned passerby who knew Jamie from elsewhere, wondering what all the shouting was about.

“Well,” said Jamie, “He’s not Uncle Henry, but he sure is anti-M.”

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“I’m trying to decide between these two. What do you think?”

The editor took the copy and read over it. The first read:

Did you ever hear about the guy who refused to follow the rules of grammar? He’s a rebel without a clause.

And the second:

Timmy says he’s too old to believe in Santa. He’s a rebel without a Klaus.

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