Turgid/turbid confusions. These are always funny because most of us can't tell them apart. I'm a chronic confuser myself, and only recently found myself in a pocket of lucidity, for long enough to drop a rhyme on Erin Judge. For those who were confounded by the lack of line breaks1 in the rhyme which was busted in Judge's comments section (and in the spirit of the ongoing hip-hop rivalry twixt Desultor and snjoseph, a rivalry which crashes every party chez Judge), I will immodestly reproduce said rhyme here, with fidelity to the original metre (though with some editorial corrections):
yo, step back, i get tur-gid
i get my hands on the mic and the ladies get fri-gid
Swimming downtown in the East (East!) River,
I kick sendiment up, (he kick it up!)
and the water gets turbid, (he kick it up!)
That's the root, my friends (issa root!)
of the turbulence—ain't no ambulance,
tho I pack .45 and ya better get wise—that $%#& is turbid.
But my man, MJ, the king of pop, self-conscious
Took a look at his nose, and tho he could rock this—
Said, damn, my friends, that's a little bit turgid. (Turgid!)
Gimme da scalpel and right quick—
I'm gonna purge this!
1Some "Republican scourge of a" weblog software eradicated my breaks, presumably as part of the ongoing war on poesy.2
2Cheap shot, I know, but hey—I'm a working man now, I can't spend all my time on writing brilliance.