Some sentences can, when one pauses to reflect on, meditate on, and inwardly
digest them, drag on in a way, which with their multiple subordinate,
embedded clauses, caveats (and, come to think of things, extra twiddly bits
in parentheses (often multiply parenthesised (to a seemingly absurd
degree))), serve only to irritate, annoy and otherwise provoke the reader,
recipient, interlocutor or other interpreter to shout an extremely
non-sentential "F*ck", owing to their final, and ultimately slow, almost
stupid, realisation, that sentences are not always so cut-and-dried as to
sport only a single, easily identifiable, subject, a verb (possibly phrasal
or involving, especially in English, the use of an auxiliary such as "have"
or "do", or a modal such as "should", "might", "may", "can/could", "ought
to", or "have to") and a simplistic, one-word object (as opposed to a
complex noun phrase, possiby also involving multiple embedded clauses); or,
to put it another way, or, possibly more idiomatically, "to cut a long story
short" (or, when one reflects upon ths sentence, more appositely, "to cut a
short story long"); some sentences are, unequivocally, "a pain in the nether
regions" (and those for the metaphorically challenged mean the buttocks,
bottom, dowp, bottom, arse) that can drive a good man (and, one should add
in these egalitarian days that the word 'man' here is used in an
all-inclusive fashion embracing women, transgendered people and eunuchs as
well as men Ding-an-Sich) to thoughts of despair or even suicide.
Some sentences can hurt a lot . . . :)
Love, kisses and funny moises, Richmond.
