Bubbanese

Life in Bubbaland isn’t something that can be easily explained, just like child birth it has to be lived through.  That is not to say all of it is bad or painful , just a lot of work. As with any foreign country, language is of the utmost importance.  After all, there are just some things hand signals don’t exist for.  However, in Bubbaland the rules are slightly different.  And instead of adding a new language to your vocabulary, it is more about forgetting unnecessary things like the ending of words, spaces between words, and let’s not forget those pesky words that have more than one syllable.  No, Bubbaland is all about efficiency.  Who has time to say the whole word when there are cows to be fed and tobacco to be chewed?  So you just kind of mush all the words together in your mouth, take a breath, and give it a go.  My first few experiences with this new language left me scratching my head and asking for one more try.  But I soon realized hearing it fifty more times wouldn’t help.  I was one of, “those people ,” the syllable users.  So having resigned myself to a life of never having any idea what in the heck anyone was talking about, I just got good at pretending and trying to respond in ways that didn’t make me sound like an idiot.  I found the best way to do this was to smile, nod my head, and say thank you.  This worked well until someone asked me if I wanted two pigs heads, but was that not a pleasant experience?!  But over time I adjusted, and now I have grown to hate syllables and spaces, like any true Bubbalandian should.  Why, just the other day I was at a friends home, and her husband said, “geyoabolful.”  And with out even needing to translate in my mind, I went and got myself a bowl full!!!