Lamentations & Jeremaiads
A place for the airing of one’s grievances, the bemoaning of one’s lot, the cursing of one’s fate, the wailing and gnashing of teeth–all within the bounds of decorum, of course.
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Bibliophile
on 6th April 1851 at 4:29 PMThat is a very good point, Lady Coneyful. I actuall change my mind; you are probably right, since we are unable to think of any other plausible explanation. This is not the proper thread for such remarks, however, unless the fact that we have not yet thought of your explanation irks you so terribly that you feel the need to lament about it–in which case I offer you my sincerest apologies.
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Lady Coneyful
on 6th April 1851 at 12:16 PMWhere is your evidence to suppose that the three-letter combination in question represents an initialism? On what basis do you infer the intent to import sentiment of any nature, much less discern whether it be frivolous or lamentable? The lack of punctuation and its syntactical placement would seem to identify it, in spite of the lack of vowels, as a standard word, probably of the most pedestrian sort.
English’s native habit of stressing initial syllables drives many words toward condensing over time and in the process strips away many dull, unstressed vowel sounds. Perhaps this tendency may accelerate to such an extent over the course of the impending two centuries as to reduce numerous commonplace words and phrases to their consonantal skeletons.
Should that be the case with our puzzling communication (if it is indeed the message from the future it purports to be, rather than a prank committed by one of our merry students in the spirit of the season) my best conjecture would be that this curious contraction ultimately derived from the phrase ‘what if’* which, when spoken by those with such slovenly habits of enunciation as have become famously epidemic in certain former English colonies (to the degree that their utterances might justifiably be described as ‘mutterances’, or in desperate cases as ‘mudderances‘), pummels those ears tuned to crisper syllables with a phonemic mush that may be approximately rendered as ‘wut’f’. The imagination needs no great leap, hardly a small hop, to nudge that regrettable deformity toward a compressed form, to wit: ‘wtf’.
*The alternative possibility “what have” suggests itself as well, though by a slightly more arduous route and with less to commend it, in my opinion.
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He Who Enjoys Reading The Muses' Magazine
on 6th April 1851 at 9:24 AMAlas, ’tis a pity. Especially so, since ’twas quite a frivolous lamentation.
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Professor Kuntz
on 5th April 1851 at 8:55 AMGood heavens, the Analytical Engine must need lubrication. What a lot of lacunae! Thank you for what we did receive of your most interesting message, far-flung enjoyer of The Muses’ Magazine.
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He Who Enjoys Reading Muse
on 5th April 1851 at 8:01 AMOh, why must the speed of the %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% be so oddly slow in Uganda? For I wish to explore more of this place, and this is currently either impossible or simply inadvisable. Also, I am highly disappointed that my father needs to use our only %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% to recharge his %%%%%%%%%%%%%, leaving me no time to do so to mine.
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A Student of Entropy
on 1st April 1851 at 6:32 PMAh, the day of April first brings great joy for me, but also sets me to recieve the most terrible pranks. Why, one of my friends tried to ambush me with his balloon of water from a two-wheeled cycling contraption, though I managed to dive behind a motor vehicle. Computing pranks shall be fun and as harmless to excecute, as I will do tonight.
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Lord Pigsworth
on 1st April 1851 at 3:14 PMI, too, am dismayed by an educational establishment. Today, the first of April, was to be the day upon which the decisions were released regarding an Honors Programme at my University of choice. Alas, upon browsing my telegraphs, no such message seems to have been sent. I am nearly distraught with anxiety and anticipation.
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An Admirer of Fantastical Tales
on 1st April 1851 at 12:33 PMToday was April first, a day not only of merriment and jocularity but also a day of discovering which admirable institutions of higher education had decided to allow me into their class of 1855.
At the behest of my mother, I used my analytical engine to search for the decision (entering the university’s chamber a gruesome process in and of itself), only to find that as I am currently abroad–and therefore several hours ahead of the aforementioned institutions–the decision has not yet been released. I am overcome with frustration.