If you've ever watched "King of the Hill", then you've heard that noise. That drawl. That Southern Accent that sounds something like a combination between a foreign language (foreign being alien, not international) and a pig snorting.I'm not talking about that slight clip of an accent that brings out such terms as "y'all" and turns the occasional one syllable word into a two or three syllable one (such as "Jen" into "Gee-an", although I do find this particular phrase mildly irritating). I am not talking about that southern belle intonation or the Matthew McConaughey/Texas accent that is very detectable yet relatively pleasing. I am referring to the thick southern twang that will turn "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" into "Thee qui-ack bro-won fawks jemped awver thu ly-zie daw-ugh." That hillbilly ruckus that when heard, forces you to turn your head in amazement, wondering exactly how this creature survives in the world.
I grew up in the South. I went to a relatively prominent Southern University. I've worked for several different companies in several different capacities. I thought I had been exposed to the southern accent in all of its forms and patterns. I can assure you, however, that I've never experienced anything remotely similar to what I am currently forced to contend with daily.
Living in Small Town America, I should have guessed that I'd be subjected to that eminent destruction of the English language. I've never loved that coagulated southern accent, but lately, my feelings have been leaning towards hatred. Loathing. Repugnance. Revulsion. I cannot impress upon you the shudders that overcome my body when I hear that diction. That odd combination of terrible grammar and preternatural sounds that blend together to form what is supposed to be a sentence but sounds more like the gurgling of a drowning hyena who was recently tormented by a pack of wolves.
I work with a person, only one, whose voice resembles Boomhauer's on "King of the Hill" (in this .wav, Boomhauer is supposedly talking about Seinfeld). Every time that I am forced to endure that clamor, I can feel my blood curdle. I close my eyes and shiver and wonder and silently scream at whatever curse has left me within perpetual earshot of this garble. I wait and wait for it to come to an end. I hold my breath to avoid wailing about the unfairness of it all. To keep from imploring of this person how she can stand the sound of her own voice. When it finally ends, I finally breathe.
No. I really don't like that reprehensible hillbilly cacophony. That snarled, illiterate desecration of our language. I don't like to hear it. I don't like to look at people who manufacture it. I don't like to live in a place where it congregates. Where there are no police to stop the torture. Where there is no escape. Where I am constantly trying to hide in sequestered corners so as to avoid its assault.
No. I can safely say that I don't like it at all.
DISCLAIMER: I am not to be taken too seriously. If you possess this accent (which very few people in the universe do), my deepest apologies if you're easily offended. I understand that an accent is not something that can be changed very readily. Nor would I expect you to. I also understand that very few people feel so strongly about these matters. I do hope that I don't get 47 emails complaining about my indiscretion.
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