Transmogrified in Translation

Jason: Today we're going to talk to each other without looking at each other. It's good practice for listening, which you'll need if you ever use English on the phone.
Student: Okay. You're, um... [pulls out e-dictionary, types in a word] ...sad-ist?
Jason: Hmm? No, lemme see that.

She proceeded to show me the dictionary and, indeed, had called me a sadist without any inclination of humor. Despite that, it was one of the funniest moments of achievement I've ever been privy to. Go me: my teaching style isn't whimpy.

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What clashes here of wills gens wonts, ostrygods gaggin fishygods! Brekkek! Kekkek! Kekkek! Kekkek! Koax! Koax! Koax! Ulau! Ulau! Ulau! Quaouauh! Where the Breddelaries partisans are still out to mathmaster Malachus Micgranes and the Verdons catapelting the camibaslistics out of the Whoyteboyce of Hoodie Head. Assiegates and boomeringstroms. Sod's brood, be me fear. Sanglorians, save! Arm's appeal with larms, appaling. Killykillkilly: a toll, a toll.

I got a few wrong, but that's mostly from memory. Y'see, th'smorning I got a very wonderful package from my very wonderful mother, containing therein no less than
-me coat
-me sleeping bag
-a scarf me gram knit for me
-some index cards (mum's a bit eccentric)
-toothpaste
-deodorant
-3 bite-sized cakes from Japan (I had sent a box of them to dad for his birthday, and she wanted me to givem a taste)
-my very own Finnegans Wake.

So happy 'twereme that I spent thismorning's trainride memorizing paragraph 4. That's the first half; I rather imagine the second half will come before day's end. It seems to be a cynical retelling of the history of Irish warfare, including all the battles from time immemorial, but focusing specifically on the civil wars and their fruitlessness in the whole of the matter. I likes it.