The falcon circled, then flew off; the falconer was pissed.
Well, what did he expect she’d do, with everything so dis
There’s a book I read, predicted this: come
the millenium, and things would fall apart, get discom
As you see: just look at this rum job:
A riddling monster, shambling through the sand, has discombob
-ulated the indignant birds.
Brother, it’s a bad job—who
can stand to swim? The bloody tide’s so loose and discombobu
While the best lack all conviction, haters hate;
No wonder everything’s so fucking discombobulat
It’s been more than twenty centuries our end’s been fated:
And now it seems the whole damned world is discombobulated.
The poem, in all its disgrace, was inspired by this post about the word discombobulated on Sesquiotica (three times as good as semiotics) by the redoubtable (twice-doubted) James Harbeck. And, of course, William Butler Yeats, without whom, etc.
My Dad — whose name, for what it’s worth, was and remains Bob — pronounced it discaboobalated.