Title translation... me so spammy

[Prevost]

Bwadwee 180 wrules ! I wruv him!

[bradlee180]

Kwe kwe, anin, mino pijowok aniibiishike-inini ashidj shaganashinini. Aptozhitch?! Tiki diay nidijinikaz, an'ezshinikazian? Temiagaming nindonjiba ashidj kay-bah-way migizi odenaw nindonjiba. Ni gitchi-kokomis Juliet Wabi-Mukwa, Temiagami, Mukwa Minisi. Mangk nidodem. Andi wendjiban ashidj anish kidodem. Niminwenindan anishinabe-an. Niminwenindan kikeniminan...

[bradlee180]

Need deng for pol...and drencroms too.

prevost is a grahzny sooka who yahzicks yarblockos...for pretty polly.


Yep

Devotchkas are just groodys and sharries to me, just filly, real horrorshow.


Slapshot! was real horrorshow, all ultraviolent and scarlet krovvy with cracked otchkies! Hah hah.

Hansons were real tough screwy malchicks, always dratsing and vreding lewdies, fisting zoobies out! Hah hah hah.

No shlems on the gullivers then. Tough.

Big yarblockos on them Hanson malchicks.

A malenky luscious glory in my sharries is vendettoes.

I'll clop his zoobies out and lubbilubb to his krovvy rot with my big pan-handle till he gets bolnoy, he'd kopat it, that gloopy bratchny !

prevost, me and my droogs will cal and make you eat it with kartoffels...
Then you'll osoosh our grahzny yahmas clean with your yahzick while we smeck.

yep

You messel your significance is nil, lad??

Snuff it then, moodge.


Get a britva and shive your wrist all krovvy. Real horrorshow like Beethoven.
...or peet WAAAY too much Moloko plus!
...or a pooshka to your gulliver !!!

Oh yeah, MMA is real horrorshow like Beethoven's Ninth !!!

Bunch of bezoomny chellovecks dratsing and tolchocking each other all scarlet krovvy for the pretty polly in front of the creeching lewdies !

MMA is a bit of the old Ultra-Violence!!!

No staja, no millicents, no barry place, and no rozz for cracking someone's gulliver and being baddiwad in there!
Deng for teh old Ultra-Violence, it's choodessny !!!

Bog bless MMA !!!


Brothers, such platching and boohoohoo and tears from your glazzies.
Are you a moodge or a cheena? No guttiwuts.

Are you poogly of the nochy too?


No appy polly loggys from the bradguy.

[bradlee180]

Doublethink, minitrue, Ingsoc, Crimethink, Goodsex...

Proletariat. Inner Party.

War is Peace; Freedom is Slavery; Ignorance is Strength.


The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth.

Mind your P's and Q's, children; there are Thought-Police.




BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.

[bradlee180]

THE TORCH

The southpaw lit up the converted southpaw with raw energy.
Dazzling speed and combos upstairs downstairs all night long.
The faded commodity couldn't pull the trigger.
Mexico, Philippines. America: Land of Dreams.
Shots in the bank early to go out to sea later and drown the Olympian.
Three blind mice sit in judgement.
Millions of green reasons why,
and weight shenanigans 2 pounds for 6 million.

A Roach and a Nacho in the corners trembling.
Merchant, Manny, Lamps and Buffer.
Keep turning him, keep the pace.
Third man Weeks with an easy score.
8 oz Reyes hammered the mouse more and more.
Enswell's futile.
Left leads landing and ganchos down low.
Completely flat and a ball of energy.
Timing, reflexes, vitality gone. Ring-rust but Show Must Go On.

Once 1-dimensional, now ring-science and generalship.
Old lion's used-up, prime lion's on fire with the hope of a nation on his back.
He can carry the load; he's equal to the task.
Battered meat, a pound of flesh, will imposed on another.
Thy will be done.
At least it's to the pound-for-pound one.
29 year chapter since 6 years old done.
Canastota here we come.
The lore of the Pacman continues on.

That's Boxing.

Bradley Robinson
Fight Fan
2008

[bradlee180]

PUGILISM VERNACULAR
by: Bradley Robinson, 2007.

“He’s telegraphing, time his telegraphs!!”
“He brings it back low!” Voices echoed in The Blue Horizon.
“Don’t hook with a hooker!!”
“Throw the right over his lazy left!” yelled a towel-carrier.
“Turn it over!”

The Professor was a southpaw head-hunter and a rhythm fighter. Tonight he wore Winning, but he’d lost his reflexes and his timing. He’d hung ‘em up 2 years before, but one of the Alphabet Soups had made him their Champion Emiritus allowing him to be in The Big Show tonight along with ring-rust. Once he had a good set of whiskers, but now it was a suspect-chin leaving him a bit gun-shy. In the squared circle with him was a body-snatcher who was also a pressure fighter. Metacarpal issues led to the body-snatcher sporting Winning pillows tonight instead of his favored Reyes.

The Professor possessed superior ring-science and experience, but the body-snatcher had youth, speed, and power. Ring Generalship had been the Professor’s forte, but effective aggression belonged to the body-snatcher this night. The falling step with the left jolt by the Professor fell short-of-the-mark. The Professor threw the corkscrew at the perpetually bobbing/weaving swarmer.

The body-snatcher’s cutman exclaimed, “He’s got a mouse, he’s got a mouse! Where’s the Enswell? Get the Enswell, it’s with the Avatene and the Adrenaline! This isn’t Tokyo!!! I thought there was gonna be a tomato can in there tonight! The scribes’ will be saying our guy was EXPOSED! I thought he was ripe to be taken!” The over-excitable cutman was obviously no Al Gavin and certainly no Chuck Bodak!

The round wasn’t over yet. The body-snatcher was a swarmer, and he threw the Gancho at the liver. PAYDIRT, and the body-snatcher went to the farthest neutral corner.
“He’s fallen...and he can’t get up!” ..Or could he? Was it a ticker problem? It was vaguely reminiscent of the aftermath of the mysterious anchor punch by The Greatest in ’65. Would he be saved by the bell?

The third-man-in-the-ring reached 10, and the doctor slid between the ropes. It was a Gancho that had put him horizontal, but because of the Professor’s earlier reactions, the doc was wary of a possible subdural hematoma. In any case, Dementia Pugilistica certainly awaited both pugilists…ALL pugilists. Fortunately the Professor was lucid. A lacerated liver and a fractured false rib were most probable; the Professor had been dusted by a legitimate Gancho thrown with bad intentions. It was no anchor punch.

The 10-Point Must System was rendered obsolete because the body-snatcher had taken it out of the 3 judges’ incapable hands. Marquis of Queensberry had prevailed tonight, both guys had been clean with superb examples on display of competitive spirit and sportsmanship. The crowd was on their feet giving it up for both ring-warriors. That’s Boxing.

Give this article to your pals who are non-boxing fans; ask what they don’t understand. This article makes complete sense to the hardcores.

[bradlee180]

The thread-starter's opening post had a mix of Asian kanji characters mixed with english.
Here's a translation of my Anishinabe mwen reply (Algonquin, Ojibwe):

Kwe kwe, anin, mino pijowok aniibiishike-inini ashidj shaganashinini. Aptozhitch?! Hello hello, welcome, asian man and white man. Half-breed?! Tiki diay nidijinikaz, an'ezshinikazian? My name is Cold @$$, what's your name? Temiagaming nindonjiba ashidj kay-bah-way migizi odenaw nindonjiba. Ni gitchi-kokomis Juliet Wabi-Mukwa, Temiagami, Mukwa Minisi. Mangk nidodem. I come from Deep Water Lake and Stepping Off Place, Eagle Village. My Great-Grandmother Juliet White-Bear comes from Deep Water Lake, Bear Island. My clan is the Loon clan. Andi wendjiban ashidj anish kidodem. Niminwenindan anishinabe-an. Niminwenindan kikeniminan... Where do you come from and what's your clan? I'm proud to be Anishinabe. I'm happy to meet you...

I wonder if I should waste time translating the Clockwork Orange NADSAT and the 1984 Newspeak, or even that Boxing vernacular for that matter. A non-boxing fan wouldn't be able to make any sense of those two short Boxing write-ups...

[Youngblood]

interesting read. I usually hope for spam to be sent to a fiery death, but this one turned out well.

Migwetch