There’s a poet MT massacre over at Fruela Fernández (h/t Carlos Ferrero). OK, we should be ignoring algorithm-generated MT for spam sites, but it’s a quiet day.
No sooner has one bankrupt tribe finished subsidising with someone else’s money a visit by the billionaire Vicar of Christ when an opposing but equally impecunious clan pops up to proxy-finance solidarity tourism by the Spawn of Satan, no less, who might also have been able to pay for it themselves. But the really bad…
Google ads are not what they were never really going to be, and donations have been such a success that until this morning’s happy contribution a victim of comprehensive digitectomy could have counted the euros raised on the fingers of both stumps. But now the game has changed: the Bank of England has indicated that…
I haven’t talked to any of the perpetrators, but I have little doubt that the principal cause of what we regard as fucked translation is a misunderstanding as to its function: whereas English-speakers expect to encounter a linguistic resource, the aim of Romance-dialect-speaking businesses, politicians and civil servants in providing English translation is often symbolic…
Here: A certain bishop, one of our brethren, having introduced in the church over which he presides the reading of your version, came upon a word in the book of the prophet Jonah, of which you have given a very different rendering from that which had been of old familiar to the senses and memory…
In all the years (how many?) this blog has existed only one repentant offender has ever got in touch, so it’s time for sterner measures. Here’s a positive way of coping with those gifts of faux-Anglo clothing that you can’t wear out of the front door because the slogan is so shamefully illiterate: Who said…
