this post was submitted on 30 Jun 2024
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Now do Finnegans Wake.
Hard: And an odd time she’d cook him up blooms of fisk and lay to his heartsfoot her meddery eygs, yayis, and staynish beacons on toasc and a cupenhave so weeshywashy of Greenland’s tay or a dzoupgan of Kaffue mokau an sable or Sikiang sukry or his ale of ferns in trueart pewter and a shinkobread (hamjambo, bana?) for to plaise that man hog stay his stomicker till her pyrraknees shrunk to nutmeg graters while her togglejoints shuck with goyt and as rash as she’d russ with her peakload of vivers up on her sieve (metauwero rage it swales and rieses) my hardey Hek he’d kast them frome him, with a stour of scorn, as much as to say you sow and you sozh, and if he didn’t peg the platteau on her tawe, believe you me, she was safe enough.
Easy: Something something... crash
""Occasionally she'd cook meals(?) of fish for him and place on his heartsfoot [hearth's foot? heart's foot, figurative language for joy?] her meddery [???] eggs, sausages, and stainish [burnt/crispy] bacon on toast, and a wishy-washy cup of Greenland tea or soup-can(?) of coffee, milk and sugar, or Si-Kiang sugary [some sort of sweet tea?], or ale of ferns [herbal ale?] in trueart [skillfully crafted] pewter, and a bit of bread "??? ???" to please him and keep his stomach porky, until her (???)knees shrunk to nutmeg graters while her joints shucked [peeled] with gout; and as rash as she'd rush with her peak-load of provisions up on her sieve [???] "(???) rage, it swells and rises", my hardy Hek [Hector?], he'd cast them from him, with a stour [force] of scorn, as much as to say you sow and you sorrow, and if he didn't peg it flat on her (tail/head/heel?), believe you me, she was safe enough.""
I don't know what kind of rural Irish hell this comes out of, but some of the words don't even look English. I hated trying to decipher that and I'm sure I wasn't accurate for half of it.