The flavor we are rhapsodizing over is the flavor of a Jubjub Bird and the rhapsodizer is the Butcher, the rhapsodee is his comrade-in-arms, the Beaver, and the rhapsodius is Fit the Fifth of The Hunting of the Snark.
This word, rhapsodius, denoting a place within which rhapsodic activities are occurring, is a word I’ve just invented. I rather like it, it has an exquisite flavor and far better than mutton, which in my experience, keeps best when it is served far away from me.
In any case, this business of rhapsodic portmanteaus, (which was once the speciality of that notorious firm of Victorian wordwrights, Messers Dodgson, Carroll & Co, LLC) is trickier than it looks.
But please pay careful attention when crafting your latest rhapsody, lest you drop a stitch and incur the wrath of certain linguistic prudes who simply cannot bear to think that someone, somewhere, is actually having a bit of a giggle with a living, breathing, bit-of-a-giggly language … the kind of language certain linguists would never take home to their mothers.
NB. The management & staff of THOTS feel that Mrs. Palin deserves a (rare) tip o’ the ink-stained turban for her recent and rather clever portmanteau. Alas, when politicos speak Nonsense, all the land is in an uproar yet when they do Nonsense, no one dares pipe up …
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