plangent (adj) 1. Making the noise of waves breaking or beating on the shore, etc. 2. Loud-sounding, striking the ear powerfully; applied sometimes to a metallic, sometimes to a loud thrilling or plaintive sound. Also fig.
Indicated by irritation due to (and poetry inspired by) despicable students who let their phones ring in lectures? No. Such students should be publicly (publically? both look wrong) flogged. Or at least put in stocks somewhere near the cafeteria.
Hey! Less of the personal remarks while hiding behind the veil of anonymity in a craven cur-like fashion. I diagnose Phlp, from previous evidence ;>.
I am not changing prematurely into a crotchety old woman. I am channelling, timeously and to good effect, my inner crotchty old woman. I am only officially a crotchety old woman when I'm actually whacking the little buggers over my head with my cane, or running over their toes with my rocking chair. Right now, the happy invention of biting and scurrilous Harry Graham-oid poetry is, in fact, standing as a substitute for actual Maddened Granny action, for which the students may, in fact, be grateful.
Um, nope. Not this Phlp anyway. I would have said biddy. Not that I'm accusing you of premature biddyness... oh never mind. I'm just going to mind my own biddyness anyway...
Comments 14
Raptor among the pigeons.
Feathers, scattering.
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w_n
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w_n
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1. Making the noise of waves breaking or beating on the shore, etc.
2. Loud-sounding, striking the ear powerfully; applied sometimes to a metallic, sometimes to a loud thrilling or plaintive sound. Also fig.
I looked it up :)
wolverine_nun
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Nothing like a ringtone sound-seeking sentry gun on your desk to focus young minds ;) Jammers are available, you know.
A
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wolverine_nun
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I am not changing prematurely into a crotchety old woman. I am channelling, timeously and to good effect, my inner crotchty old woman. I am only officially a crotchety old woman when I'm actually whacking the little buggers over my head with my cane, or running over their toes with my rocking chair. Right now, the happy invention of biting and scurrilous Harry Graham-oid poetry is, in fact, standing as a substitute for actual Maddened Granny action, for which the students may, in fact, be grateful.
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Pale cherry blossoms falling,
Rust blood rushing. Peace.
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