The Diction Lesson (my apologies to Shaw)
(Professor Martins and Mary Bayfield stand in a drawing room with a gramophone.)

Martins: Very well, Mary. Your articulation is coming along quite nicely. It is your diction, however, that we need to improve.

Mary: Yes, professor.

Martins: Now. Let's try one of my favorite childhood recitations: "I am a mother pheasant plucker. I pluck mother pheasants. I am the most pleasant mother pheasant plucker to ever pluck a mother pheasant." (laughs) Delightful, isn't it? Now you try: "I am a mother pheasant plucker."

Mary (with perfect articulation): I am a pleasant motherfucker.

Martins: No, that's not quite it. "I pluck mother pheasants."

Mary: I fuck fother measants.

Martins: Ah, closer. Now. "I am the most pleasant mother pheasant plucker to ever pluck a mother pheasant."

Mary: I am the most pleasant motherfucker to ever fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Martins: Hmm. Again you're pronunciation is immaculate. Your diphthongs, clear as crystal. But I think you're having trouble distinguishing the word choice. Are you familiar with pheasants?

Mary: Yes.

Martins: And does the notion of a mother pheasant, the progenitor of other pheasants, make sense to you?

Mary: Yes.

Martins: And the feathers, you are plucking them. Understood?

Mary: Yes.

Martins: So pretend it's your job to prune the feathers of this pheasant, this mother pheasant. "I am a mother pheasant plucker."

Mary (carefully, articulate): I enjoy having sexual intercourse with fancy birds.

Martins: OK. Well. That's a start.

(Fade out)


© copyright Jeremy Richards 2002