Learning Through Stugh - Upbraid
upbraid \uhp-BRAYD\, transitive verb:
To scold or criticize harshly.
Stephen sleepily swatted the blasted alarm clock. His hangover still blared and lumbered in his head, though, like an elephant doing belly flops on his brain. He wasn’t sure how, but he was certain that someone must’ve laid carpet in his mouth last night.
Hugh lay next to him, feigning sleep and chomping onto the pillow to stifle his giggles.
Stephen made it to his feet with all the dexterity of a gymnast being pistol-whipped. He mummy-walked to the bathroom, balancing himself with whatever he happened to touch.
Hugh braved a peek over his shoulder and, seeing that the coast was clear, rolled over, stretched his legs masterfully, and counted down to detonation:
“Five . . . four . . . three . . .”
“HUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!”
“Well, that was quicker than I thought,” Hugh thought.
Stephen suddenly appeared at the bathroom door, his face quivering with violent intent. In fact, it was nearly the same color as . . .
“James Hugh Calum Fucking Laurie, you dyed my hair pink, didn’t you?”
Hugh’s body spasmed with laughter as he rolled around on the bed.
“You sick, diseased, despicable, execrable, putrid, scab of wet horseshit,” Stephen upbraided with magnificent vehemence.
To scold or criticize harshly.
Stephen sleepily swatted the blasted alarm clock. His hangover still blared and lumbered in his head, though, like an elephant doing belly flops on his brain. He wasn’t sure how, but he was certain that someone must’ve laid carpet in his mouth last night.
Hugh lay next to him, feigning sleep and chomping onto the pillow to stifle his giggles.
Stephen made it to his feet with all the dexterity of a gymnast being pistol-whipped. He mummy-walked to the bathroom, balancing himself with whatever he happened to touch.
Hugh braved a peek over his shoulder and, seeing that the coast was clear, rolled over, stretched his legs masterfully, and counted down to detonation:
“Five . . . four . . . three . . .”
“HUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!”
“Well, that was quicker than I thought,” Hugh thought.
Stephen suddenly appeared at the bathroom door, his face quivering with violent intent. In fact, it was nearly the same color as . . .
“James Hugh Calum Fucking Laurie, you dyed my hair pink, didn’t you?”
Hugh’s body spasmed with laughter as he rolled around on the bed.
“You sick, diseased, despicable, execrable, putrid, scab of wet horseshit,” Stephen upbraided with magnificent vehemence.