Thanks to Corey for contributing the list of words from one of those curious internet sites. Thanks to Paul for contributing a madcap tale of a knight, cowboys, and using the words in context. We hope you'll enjoy this fun story.
— Þe Olde Poète Codey and Þe Olde Editeur Blue
33 Names of Things You Never Knew Had Names
The Knight's Cowboy's Tale of 33 Names
I think I've managed to incorporate all 33 words in the following story:
"Jarn, nittle, grawlix quimp!" swore Sir Yea of Verilyforsooth, waving his arms about. The stalwart Knight-Errant of The Realm, newly-transported in time to 21st century Wyoming by the machinations of the Evil Wizard Mel, had awakened with a raging case of morning obdormition. That's what he got for falling asleep in his armor.
Clumsily, he began the process of donning the unfamiliar garb adopted by his new companions, a strange breed of men who called themselves "cowboys." "Spraints!" he cursed, fumbling to grasp the delicate aglets of his boot lacings. The task would have proceded more smoothly had his purlicue not been handicapped by the armor plating of his gloves. Worse, their gauntlets threatened to tear asunder the armsayes of his gaudy shirt when he attempted to don the oddly-patterned garment. Impatiently, he pulled off his gloves, frowned at the rasceta they had left, then blindly tossed them aside. Unfortunately, they struck and upset the nef that was the only decorative touch in his otherwise spartan quarters. The lamp it held crashed to the floor, its harp now warped beyond all utility.
Attempting to regain his normal disciplined composure, Sir Yea closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. If the phosphenes dancing in his phantom vision, not to mention the tight constriction of his ophryon, were any indication, he wasn't succeeding.
Pressing upward on his columella nasi to facilitate a deep intake of breath, he collected himself and resumed dressing. At least one item, he found, rekindled sensations from his former life. The cinch that secured his pantaloons was fashioned from familiar, even suggestive, materials: leather and a device of gleaming metal. As he threaded the end through the keeper and bound it tightly about his waist, he found the customary sensations stirring in his loins.
Finally, he shod himself, attaching the rowels with care lest he prick his minimus upon their sharp tangs. "Three at one blow," he chortled to himself cryptically, then strode to the reflecting glass to assess his efforts. A strand of hair dangled low on his forehead, much like the liripipe of scholar who'd dressed in the dark. With a sweep of his hand he adjusted the errant feat and was satisfied with his coif. He hadn't earned the sobriquet "Goldilocks" for nothing back in The Realm, though he was uncertain how such an appellation would be received in these new times.
A sudden wamble emanating from his nether regions bespoke his urgent need for sustenance, so directly he proceded to the refectory, whistling a carefree refrain. Completing the tune with an intricate flourish replete with hemidemisemiquavers, he drew the attention of a busty serving wench. Her garments emitted a sensuous scroop as she sashayed seductively forth. Her sultry, inviting perusal of the knight's stalwart form was all for naught. Unknown to her, Sir Yea of Verilyforsooth jousted for the other team.
"A joint of beef and a bottle of your finest vintage, my good woman," Sir Yea commanded heartily. "And see to it that the vessel's capacity is not lessened by an excessive kick." Noting her perplexed expression, he added hastily, "That's punt to you."
The meal was not entirely to his satisfaction. In place of the joint he'd ordered, a tough, fibrous substance the wench called "jerky" was set before him. "Egad," he cried, finding none of the provided table implements equal to the task. "The tools of a smithy would serve better; would that I might trade this fork and knife for a peen!" As nothing of the kind was forthcoming, his plate was filled with chanking at the end of his repast.
Fortunately, a pleasant dessert, consisting of some sweet scones colorfully bedecked with a scattering of dragées, helped cleanse his palate. A hot, curiously invigorating libation the wench identified as "acuppajoe" was the last of the victuals provided, and as Sir Yea sat holding the beverage by its zarf, he reflected on his curious situation. Such wondrous things were to be found in this world! Pieces of stiff paper that, with nary an incantation, but merely the flick of the wrist, could be coaxed into sudden flame. Absently he tapped his fingertip on the saddle of the container holding a collection of the contrivances.
Anon, his meditations upon such curiosities gave way to a certain languor. Calling upon the serving wench to provide him with paper and a writing instrument, Sir Yea proceded to sketch out the figure of an octothorpe. In his time, the age-old passtime he then embarked upon was known as "toe tac tic;" what it might be called in this topsy-turvy world he knew not. Like so much here, something completely the opposite, no doubt.
He examined the curious writing instrument. A resiliant substance was secured at one end by a ferrule. While he pondered its possible utility, the wench sidled up to him. "Whatcha doin', honey?" she drawled. "Writin' a letter?"
Her words jogged Sir Yea's memory. In his own world, he was well familiar with the urgent longings that arose so easily among men gathered together in isolation on lengthy martial expeditions. Men being men, it was the same here, and the "lonely nights on the prairie" he'd been warned of no doubt stimulated the same yearnings. But again, these new times had added new complications, and he'd been advised to be prepared.
"Yes," he told the wench. "A letter. I require a French letter! Several, in fact."
The wench evinced a certain confusion over his unexpected request. "Letters? To France? Well, hon, I guess you could use the snorkel box out front."
"Snorkle," he thought. "Is that what they call it here? No matter; never let it be said that Sir Yea of Verilyforsooth turned down a chance for a good man-on-man snorkle!"