Returning to the world of the internet, in which I can distract myself from the fact that I’m not quite sure how to complete this piece of coursework I’ve been set at rather short notice and where I can feel like I can talk to myself without other people giving me weird looks or tying me up with a straitjacket, I come bearing gifts of the semantic variety, gifts that are much more pleasurable than those given by three wise men that foreshadow death to a newborn baby, but still less pleasurable than the gift of everlasting life, or an ipad 2, I couldn’t quite scratch that itch with words alone.
On the subject of gifts, the German word gift means poison.
Now there’s a false friend if there ever was one, just heed my warning and do not accept a gift from a German man. Not because they might be confusing it for poison but because while bratwurst is initially tasty, it isn’t one of those gifts that keep on giving, and furthermore they don’t make very good pets.
On a completely unrelated note, and by unrelated I mean related, poison is worryingly close to the french word poisson, the word for a fish.
Now I don’t know what the french have against fish, they’re perfectly reasonable creatures and certainly have more cognitive function than Mike Adams but there are a lot of poisonous fish that perhaps the french have been trying to warn us about all of these years…
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new winner for the lamest conspiracy theory, winning in the ‘didn’t actually mean it category’ alongside other great nominees like ‘the dry cleaners are the ones egging Eddy’s coat’.
And that closes our awards ceremony for the evening.
As always, I bid you adieu.