All along the street people are hastening the death of language. All that remains are bones. That tumour which is language's so-called evocative function has been cut out. Sentences are no longer written. The people of Mundubbera seek the destruction of grammar and its study and to that purpose cause their words to overfill 'normal' sentential constraints until the sentence bursts in a frenzy of syllables. Every line plays vertiginously about on the edge, dancing the ultimate game of strategy.
Note: A refutation takes little time to excise. To disclaim is not only to disown, it is also to introduce a quack remedy which relieves none of the symptoms.
Also: In our generation, one can no longer be sure of the appropriate course of greeting when meeting someone for the first time. The shaking of hands is awkward and stiff. In many cases a brief hug is a suitable substitute.