The made-up word story

Thanks to everyone who contributed to the Cratousum story. It turned out a bit dark as I have been listening to Margot non stop. See if you can find the words that are made up and the ones that are just horrifically misspelled.

Love without Definition

It was raining. Again. If this were a movie, you’d see the shadows of the rain on the windshield crossing my face. I turned the wipers on and the only good they did was to rhythmatically kick "The Girl from Ipanema" song that was dittyitising around in my skull. Now all I heard was the first stanza of “The Stroke” repeating over and over. The day was not going to get better. Thanks Billy Squire.

I drove off into the morning darkness. Though the sun was dragging itself up, it was getting darker. I reached up to the dash and put my hand on my kickidoe mounted next to the broken compass. It was a “Buddy Jesus” I bought after a murksom night of cable television. Glame, I know, but he always seemed to give me a sense of…

Shit

I slid sideways in the roadway as the breaks decided to work and then didn’t and then did. The car jumped and kicked itself straight.

Shit.

The 45MPH traffic had slowed to a crawl as some plippethead snailobily decided that 13 MPH would keep them from wrecking in the downpour. In trying to maintain safety, the goody two shoes almost caused a neekabaum. With the sudden stop and instant panic, I was about to have a neekabaum in my pants. I pulled into the berm and drove past 14 cars who only had time to honk once I passed them. I pulled into Jack and Jacks and smontelorped across the parking lot. The woman coming out of the front door decoded my walk and held the door for me.

In the bathroom, I barely got my pants down and speelisher on the toilet seat before I let loose with a rage that only a victim of Crone’s disease that had been pharmaphlarneffed 1500ml of prune juice extract would be able to withstand. My chest burned white hot. Sweat mixed with the rain on my face and I realized that I had left my inhaler at Jesse’s house in her kitcheneteria next to the half cup of coffee. The walls of the stall started closing in and I felt zoofloged and helpless.

I was fading. And I felt Jesse’s presence from the night before, her hair swuuuping across my legs. She was humming to herself.

The manager who called 911 later told me that he puked from the smell when he came into the bathroom and found me half in the stall and half on the floor. He told the paramedics it must have been mine. I can live with that.

cratousum

I have been trying to involve my readers in my life and besides being stalked, I have failed. Or succeeded depending on how you look at it.

Here’s my newest attempt to attain some dialogue between you and me.

I want you to make up a word of between six and twelve letters. My definition of “make up” means that Google cannot come up with for a match for it. It should look and sound like it could be a real word. For example.

Put your word in the comments below. I would like you to then provide a definition for the cratousum. Or leave it blank and I will make one up.

In a week or two, I’ll write up a story with those words.

One of those words is cratousum, which now means “a word that didn’t exist until right now.”

Well? What are you waiting for? Get your speelishers in gear!