A new addition to the Big Book of Bunkum:
wordhog (n.) an in-your-face, smirky sort of creature that monopolizes water-cooler conversations by thrusting his nouns, verbs, and adjectives down the throats of unsuspecting victims who haven’t got a ghost of a chance of finding their way out of a boogie bag let alone a barnyard of bad dudes and equally bad smells
e.g. As Gertrude Goosecruives entered the two-toned, shocking blush-rose and vibrant pea-soup colored piano bar, aptly called the “Pink Panther Palace”, she knew she would be tickled pink, but the last thing she expected was to be accosted by someone calling himself a rough-necked “road monkey” (from some god-forsaken place in Canada, known as Attawapiskat), which probably accounted for the reason why he kept asking for directions to the nearest water-cooler, where to buy “boogie bags”, and more to the point, if a wordhog by the name of Lord Leaping-to-Conclusions was in the premises or if anyone had died lately as a result of an unexplained verbivore attack causing bar bunnies to flee the scene at the first opportunity and bartenders to leave any change left over from patrons ordering aperitifs, pre-prandials, and chasers in rather large wet puddles on the bar, (all which did not appear to sit well with the maintenance supervisor responsible for removing wads of yellow-jaundice gum, a canister of malodorous mulch plus other perfectly normal odds and sods found lying about in the place when it finally closed at 3:31 am sharp).
Contributed by: Chuchi Pettibone, a colorful back-stabbing blurbist from Worby, Manitoba employed by “Tuesday Magazine”, (an award-winning lifestyle publication of interest to those who have a keen interest in soap relationship difficulties, renting an apartment to aliens, pressures from depressed pets, and controversial social issues such as when to use dental floss so it won’t disturb your next-door neighbors or the inhabitants of your aquarium)