Upon reading the comments of Senator-Elect Webb, I, too, became dismayed. You see, I may or may not agree with the substance of what he said, but I certainly object to the form. I, as you, hold dear the tongue that laps the shores of our great nation and England, as well as Canada, and various other countries. It is of utmost importance that its usage not be corrupted by uncouth brutes like Webb. For to do so is to cast our very voices upon the pyre of "Text Messaging" and "Leet Speak" and other such degenerate dillutionments of our language. English is a language which should follow a precise and unyielding context-free grammar, in which we travel from state to state along a whimsical series of lambda transitions, not this parade of anarchy which spews forth from the mouths of snithering dunderheads.
I confess that I have been accused of being a pedant by the more delearnèd of my critics. If anything, anyone who has read my previous works would confirm that my usage of the occasional unwarranted bon mot or Großes Wort is somewhat akin to an angry Barry Bonds attempting to redeem himself by hitting wiffle balls with a nine iron in a Circuit City parking lot. And indeed, the first time I read a sentence fragment in Faulkner, I threw the book down and nearly puked on myself. This is why I am so frowardly infixated upon your article. I, for one, welcome the countless gallons of ink consumed and vast fields of phosphors illuminated to form words used to discuss other words.
When Webb used the term "literally" to place emphasis on what he was saying instead of delineating the use of his words in a properly studious and strict sense, or when he used "infinite" to mean "by a difficult-to-quantify-yet-very-large amount" each word which followed was as another middle finger perched upon his cloddish meat hook pointed nefanacingly at you, I, and the American flag in some Lavinian array of mumilated metatarsals.
The needlessly attricious retortal of "That's between me and my boy, jerk-o" to the President's interrogative "How's your boy?" left me positively frumious. An uffish response to this insolent impropridentry on the part of the President would have been quite qualustifant (and one might think consistent with previous strategery), yet he dignirestrially bestrode the Senatorissimo admist the atwirling vernacular gyre. Merely delignified, President Bush had neither ostracized the trencherman for his avoirdupois nor mollified the turgid subaltern with bootless, vapid dotage (including any redacted agrestic idylls depicting travail among the copses,) yet the peripatetic Webb harangued, obfuscated, equivocated, and prevaricated ab ovo with inexorable congeries of galvanic yet gauche proclivities toward putative yet apocryphal themes exacerabated with rhetorical fillips. Whatever mimsy rejoinder is burnished for this barbaric burgandy burbled burgoo, one shudders to think of the outcome on our culture.
[Update] Accent on fake word corrected.