Sick of Sick

To save time, Ada had its two multi-grain bread slices before the corridor to the bathroom in the toaster put on the pair that he purring crisp roasted, while they are under the shower refreshed. Only once in the cabin milchverglasten liked it is no longer quite separate from wohligwarmen rain droplets, played in the mixed battery, turned hot water. Nearly half an hour. From time savings could no longer speak.

Now they touched the meantime crisp bread slices. Schlapp like cold cardboard. Klack. Schnurr again for me, toaster. Meanwhile While they lit their air-cigarette, sucked out relaxed leaned back and let her smoke clouds in the mild autumn light dancing, the slanting through the kitchen window hereintropfte.

Too much stress in recent times. Allen to make everything right, was an Ascension command. By tomorrow evening, she still had her essay on "The Photography in the light of Walter Benjamin's" have submitted. But the turbulent last few weeks, they had exhausted, exhaustion had like a thick, sleeping cat on her head, and their other speaker in vague Dämmer drown. My idea was the river dried up like a desert in the Wadi.

Multiple they had in the days before used to write, but the words were still pale as hemophiliacs, and listlessly trübschlaff ranked at the rates together. The mad professor Doctor stress they had attacked, dragged into his lab, it Aderlass asked their fantasy crushed until it crumbles into tiny crumbs. Their language has been at the seams off, it was down to the bony skeleton emaciated. They jerked around clumsy, almost lifeless, with a dry mouth, an empty look, faded and faded.

Klack. The toaster threw the bread slices high, which is now in thickness, but still crisp. Ada swatted her cigarette in the ashtray overcrowded. Some flakes of ash triggered by the embers, sailed a few moments to the light and then laid on the table sleep. They threw the bread flat on the breakfast plate, cut with a knife through butter, stirred in the jam, smeared both it and bite into it vigorously.

Incidentally she skimmed through the viewer's cultural level. Somewhere in the middle of the booklet urged grumbling. A oberlehrerhafter finger wagged issue between the sides. Despise arrogance welled behind. They skimmed through quickly to the origin of this strange hustle uncover. When they reached their destination, according to Ada yawned. The newest "Zwiebelfisch." Bastian Sick, the language police, had sought new victims and distributed hectic traffic violations because of the strict rules of the German language.

"How dull would be the language well, so if all speak like Sick? No corners, no edges. If Ange in rank and link! At Sick is the German language as a city park, in which the entering of green areas is prohibited, "it wuselte Adas head. Lightning Clean, washed blütenrein rates as shy children who brushed with accurate side crest, manikürten clean fingernails and creases smuggest pants bolt upright on the table, which it is forbidden to play or even to think, and the only allowed to speak, after which they Papa the floor. Eiskalt and sentenziös. So lively and cheerful as the linoleum floor in land. Vive la bureaucratie!

Everything has its order, which applies now and forever, has to be respected, and who is against the house rules, with the ruler on the back of the hands in the Büßer-Ecke made or arrest locked room until he whimpers remorseful and with tears in the eyes vowed never again to the dative instead of the Rabbit to use grad only because he was faster at hand.

We have nothing against an original idea, but only if they are not in violation of our strict guidelines violated. Before the shoes off, but the games from the left-shelf use all parts lane and then return the carton zurückräumen, and after playing Feierabend is generally prohibited. Imagination is not urgently needed and important knowledge of the prohibition follow deontologisch decisive grammar catalog. Dear language, the so arid and dusty as a Trockenfurz than that we of colorful, loud, krähenden words rumtanzen on the nose, we are not yet in kindergarten! Anarchy is something for the mob. We are civilized. We prefer toneless, simple, dull colors, tidy and entschlackte records with a note of sterility, antiseptic, clinically pure, inflexible, rigid and heartless. Otherwise, we could still be infected, and you know where that leads you, and even the language is ill.

The insidious virus bite itself firmly in the language to contaminate it with improper use word, throw in the living room of the words to the cabinets, drawers tear apart, let the middle smelly socks on the carpet, crockery not recognize her away, fiddling with the drink and wash not. And recently, the House of language pigsty, devastated, messy, a mess by not more accommodating, a noisy Moloch eve of indecency. That is, what we, ladies and gentlemen, and that is why I have my second book on the market, they buy and ask all of its instructions, please follow all else, it was.

"Gentlemen, go 'shit, you besserwisserischer wide mouth frog, you ewiggleicher bureaucratic Schablonenscheißer, Du Johann Joseph Fux of everyday language, your language is like eating unseasoned," angered at Ada, as they Zwiebelfisch column with her look more average. And they suddenly felt, as their language of the of the life in it already from sträubendem resistance to the rule sick'schen Catalog started bubbling again