I was studying my linguistics and was really tempted to show you guys a poem this guy wrote about English.
Let's face it, English is a crazy language. There is no egg in the eggplant, no ham in the hamburger, and neither pine nor apple in the pineapple. English muffins were not invented in Englang, French fries were not invented in France.
We sometimes take English for granted but if we examine its paradoxes we find that, quicksand take you down slowly, boxing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
If writers write, how come fingers don't fing? If the plural of tooth is teeth, shouldn't the plural of phone booth be phone beeth? If the teacher taught, why didn't the preacher praught?
If vegetarian eats vegetables, what the heck does a humanitarian eat?! Why do people recite at a play yet play at a recital? Park on driveways and drive on parkways?
How can the weather be as hot as hell on one day, and as cold as hell on another? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language where a house can burn up as it burns down. In which you fill in a form by filling it out. And a bell is only heard once it goes!
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race(which of course isn't a race at all). That is why when the stars are out they are visible, but when the lights are out they are invisible. And why is it that when I wind up my watch, it starts; but when I wind up this poem, it ends.
