English is, essentially, three raccons in a trenchcoat, mugging other languages in back alleys and rifling through their pockets for loose grammer and vocabulary.
I _did_ throw a little editorial mustard on there - it seemed an apt way to illustrate how the language is unpredictable and often at odds with itself.
Good luck to James - a trash panda's gon do what the trash panda does best. 👀
But, why does everyone act as though epicaricacy doesn't exist? Is it just the eccentric uncle that noone wants to acknowledge, so much so that they'd rather invite a foreigner instead?
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Good luck to James - a trash panda's gon do what the trash panda does best. 👀