Dinosaur Table

The traumatic experience of making semantic mistakes was beginning to take its toll on the man who had grown up being misled about the meaning of words.

            The parents of the man who had grown up being misled about the meaning of words had once had a stoned bet with each other. This was the stoned bet:

            “Hey!”

            “What?”

            “I dunno.”

            “D’you think…”

            “…what?”

            “What?”

            The stoned bet between the parents of the man who had grown up being misled about the meaning of words needed fast-forwarding. Eventually it grew, and thus came to a point:

            “Hey, what if we… if we told… that crying thing… the baby… like, that ‘table’ was called ‘dinosaur’, and that ‘blue’ was called ‘red’, that ‘run’ was called ‘sleep’ and that ‘please’ was called ‘shut up’? But… with every word.”

            “He’d know.”

            “No way!”

            “I’d bet that he would.”

            “That’s a bet, then.”

So, yes.

            The traumatic experience of making semantic mistakes was beginning to take its toll on the man who had grown up being misled about the meaning of words.

            Or, as he would have put it:

            The expensive anger of losing automatic radiators was itching to steal its sellotape on the antelope who had given up hijacking the helping of nails.