One of my old friends (whom I am currently very angry with) has a fluid way of retelling his adventures. His writing style is atrocious. Grammatical rules (and spelling) are cast aside in favor of rustic (guttural grunting) grace. I envy him in many ways.
“Anyways… the gardens coming along. I got the girls ta help me plant some corn, and they had fun. Y’know, nothing sucks more than a fucking sunburn… and now I got four kids with sunburn… fucking aloe plants sacrificed, and I was just getting ‘em ta grow big again. S’okay, tho. Kelsey had ta plant, and she couldn’t go to the mall with Josh, and hey… y’know my rule about dating. Anyway, the roses are all bloomed on the porch. Reminds me of Mignon. Yeah, I miss him. He’s doing good… did ya know he finished his novel? Said he’d send me a copy before it was out on stands. That’s my Migs. So now we're gonna go ta the Strip for a sammach…” and so on.
|A "sammach". Fries and cole slaw arrive between the bread and meat. Primanti Brothers best!|
I can’t duplicate his style. I would need to pepper my paragraphs with plenty of F bombs, to begin with. My goodness, the man is Lord of the F Word. Reading his letters is similar to sitting across from a dock worker, sharing a pint and ogling pretty girls as they pass. He writes as he speaks, a soft Scottish accent mingled with a Pittsburgh croak.
Pittsburghese is its own dialect. Dr. Barbara Johnstone, Department of English, Carnegie Mellon University, gave a lecture regarding it. You can watch it on Youtube if you have 45 minutes to spare. I highly recommend it.
Yinz might enjoy a shorter, less cerebral approach, n’at. For Crab, Ox, Miss Feather and Reeses Pieces: