I decided immediately upon finding the word “toilet toupee” (any shag carpet toilet cover that causes the lid to become top-heavy, thus creating endless annoyance to male users) that I had to use these words to write a first sentence to a hypothetical short story.
My salmon day started when I quash squashed through his fornicorium, septic garfu on my shoe, and sweaved by the rocktopus, interrobanging the jobsworth of what I was about to do.
Definitions for the words in the sentence are below the fold.
Fake Contest: If you for some ungodly reason have the time to come up with a sentence of your own, leave it in the comments section, and I will send the winner an imaginary signed copy of the book I haven’t written yet for some reason.
salmon day — (n.) Spending an entire day swimming upstream only to get skewered and die in the end.
quash squashed — (v.tr.) The act of walking on the outer sides of one’s feet to dampen the squishing sound of squeaky tennis shoes. Literally, to annul a squishing sound
fornicorium — (n.) A single man’s apartment or house.
garfu — (n.) Stuff accidentally walked through that sticks to one’s shoe
sweave — (v.) To swerve and weave about.
rocktopus — (n.) A celebrity musician who believes that he may, by dint of his fame and social standing, grope one’s girlfriend when he meets them in a club.
interrobang — (n.) A combination of a question mark and an exclamation point or the appearance of both right next to each other. (okay, I turned this into a verb. But it’s not like rules count all that much here, right?)
jobsworth — (n.) A measure of a task in comparison to a job’s worth. A task that, in order to complete, requires compensation above and beyond a single job’s worth.