A well-boiled icicle

Video (which contains a great spoonerism) via MyNapoleonDynamite

A well-boiled icicle (Published in the Springville Independent News) I’ll never understand how some people can hear a good spoonerism and not giggle uncontrollably. It’s almost like a biological reaction for me. It’s similar to the sneezing brought on by abrupt exposed to sunlight — another phenomenon to which certain people are simply immune. If you're unfamiliar with the phrase, a spoonerism, comedy's highest form, is a verbal slipup (named after the tongue-tied but otherwise venerable Reverend William Archibald Spooner) wherein pieces of two words or sentences are accidentally interchanged. "A well-boiled icicle," instead of "a well-oiled bicycle," is a famous example from Spooner's semi-apocryphal legacy; “a scoop of boy trouts,” instead of “a troop of boy scouts,” is another one. He also once inquired if it was “kisstomary to cuss the bride” and another time professed that “Our Lord is a shoving leopard.” We call them Brentisms in my family, in honor of my tongue-tied but otherwise venerable brother Brent. He’s uttered such favorites as "I got covered in a poud of clowder!" and "Let's play Screed Spabble." (Cloud of powder, Speed Scrabble.) He recently informed my brother Josh that the “legs on his hair” were standing up. Unable to commit to either "confused" or "clueless," Brent once apologized for being "confuless" to a Village Inn waitress. (She was flirting with him at the time, I might add. Was.) All too fittingly, he recently mentioned that his “spurch was already sleered enough as it is” after suffering a mild concussion. Then there's our sister Amy, who once lamented during a card game, "All I have are jeans and quacks!" (Queens and jacks.) Then there’s my Sunday School teacher who advised us all to “let virnish gartue thy thoughts.” (Another church one: Brent once gave a lesson on the “dutings and blessies” of service.) “Carving pumpkins” always comes out “parving cumpkins” or even “pumpking carvkins” for my friend Moham. And not too long ago I heard a local news anchor announce that a man was facing some “prettis chargedy serios.” (Pretty serious charges.) My friend Chris still hears about the time he dramatically shouted, “Fine, son’t day bye to me!” as a girl with whom he was attempting to flirt drove away. I still take guff for exasperatedly yelling, “Who puts keeping these towels over here?” on a trip to the pool. But my all-time favorite might be my friend Elliot, who, upon discovering a missing hotel pool key in his pocket, shouted, "Who put this pocket key in my pool pants?" instead of "Who put this pool key in my pants pocket?" It was like he put his sentence in a blender and poured it right back out. The confused, panicked look on his face as this unrecognizable jumble spilled out of his mouth was priceless. And if you’re one of those types that reads this and thinks none of this is pity, I funny you. You probably don’t sun when you look at the sneeze, either.