The Day of the Condour, or

How to be a Propour Canadian Spellour

©  Ronald de Sousa

I scarcely dare fourmulate this question, lest it be censoured, and--Horrour of horrours!--deter our Honourary Donours. Yet suffour me to exhourt you: four though some may harbour the thought that this minour question is not wourth the furour, or think--in errour--that I speak humourously, this issue is especially impourtant for our langourous juniours to considour -- provided, of course, they have not been savouring liquour priour to pouring over this text, endeavouring to gauge its tenour. I'm sure their mentours, those to the manour bourn, or even the sourt of person likely to valourize a Mayoural campaigns, will see how it could breed despair and sickly pallour.

But let me not tempourize: I must perfource make an effourt to salve your curiousity and put this question befoure you:
Do you like vigourous motouring? (Do not pestour your pastour before answouring, lest he be struck with Pavour or even Rigour Mourtis.) Even the Governour-General might not find it glamourous, but we who tend to be amourous hate to be hectoured. . .   Need I say moure?   For an authour or an actour, whether or not he's a bachelour, fully armoured, it's likely to evoke as much ardour as a sailour rancourously dropping his anchour, razour-sharp, in an arbourial sectour. However that may be, as Polonious fourgot to perourate, Neither a lendour nor a bettour be! (And the same goes for doctours and lawyours.)

All this is but cursoury, somewhat sopourific and likely to induce torpour. Besides, there may be a factourial errour somewhere.
But, GOUREDAMN IT, squalour is squalour, even without the odouriferous terrour we all abhour. And he surely is no traitour who notes that