If I had any defecated readers, this would be for them.
By a hair's breath, this could be a tough road to hoe. I'ts even possibly all for knot, due to an alterior motive. Or maybe it's Old-Timer's disease kicking in, something I probably inherited from one of my anisters.
If someone said this to my face we might end up in a bear handed fight because I'd take it as a bold faced lie, and I'd tell him to cease and decease instead of baring witness like that.
You can bet that his chickens would come home to roast and he'd have to come to turns with that. Or end up right in the crutch of the matter and then die of conjunctive heart failure.
But I have to remind myself to curve my enthusiasm to avoid death charges that might be thrown my way. Too many of them and you end up dough-eyed, for sure, at least. And that would require a whole bunch of explanation marks to clarify any far-gone conclusion, avoid financial heartship and flying the flag at half-mass.
For all intensive purposes I would be out of gameful employment, and could get my nipples in a twist over it. Then I might have to girdle my loins and prepare for battle with a taste of granola oil, which would require me to grim and bear it. In lame man's terms though, I would be internally grateful because I'm lack toast and tolerant and can't stand the locust of control being elsewhere.
If it was, I'd even consider making a pack with the devil to hone in on my main concern, which is really much to do about nothing, i.e., no holes barred during an outer body experience, which often occurs while I'm speaking pigeon English and looking for planter warts.
But usually I just play it by year. That way I generally avoid post-dramatic stress disorder as well as post-pardon depression. "Reap what you sew," is what I say, and if not, then ring your hands of the whole deal.
No use standing around soaping wet, holding a spear of influence, trying to spread like wildflowers. Do that and you'll end up stark raven mad, so, for heaven's sake take it with a grain of assault and look out for the invincible hand. It's something you can count on because it's always up to stuff. It's obvious from the right vintage point, and if not, then it's "Whoa is me!", and you're back outside with the windshield factor to deal with, and could be pulled over for wreckless driving.
References:
GrammarGasm
GrammarGasm (original link)
The Eggcorn Database
Eggcorn at Wikipedia
Have extra info to add?
If the commenting system is out again, then email sosayseff@gmail.com
Me? Totally non-defecated.
