Today’s dilemma, dear Readers, is whether to die laughing, or from the abject horror of these grammatic fauxs-pas:
A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.
A bar was walked into by the passive voice.
An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.
A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.
Hyperbole totally crashes into this insane bar and completely demolishes everything.
A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.
A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall, but hoping to nip it in the bud.
Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.
A synonym strolls into a tavern.
At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar — fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.
A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute sentence fragment.
A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.
An allusion walks into a bar, knowing alcohol is its Achilles heel.
The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.
A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned by a man with a glass eye named Ralph.
The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense. (Oldie but goodie)
An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television getting drunk and smoking cigars (thus entirely useless).
A simile walks into a bar, as parched as the desert.
A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.
A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar; the bartender nearly chokes on the irony.
Mrs. Language Person and Sholeh Patrick are columnists for the Hagadone News Network with a lame sense of humor. Contact them at Sholeh@cdapress.com.