latin stories

conferencing in latin
written by theCallowQueen

I was talking with this cute redheaded guy at a conference. I wanted him to see how intelligent I was, so I thought I’d show off my Latin.

“Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre,” I asked him

He mumbled something that sounded like, “Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure.” But I doubt that I had heard him correctly. (I asked him: Is that a scroll in your toga, or are you just happy to see me? He may have mumbled: I can’t hear you. I have a banana in my ear.)

It was at this moment that a woman rushed up to me, pushing the redhead out of the way.

“Recedite, plebes! Gero rem imperialem (stand aside, little people! I’m here on official business),” she demanded.

Her hair few in wild directions. I wanted to ask her, “Quomodo cogis comas tuas sic videri (how do you get your hair to do that)?” But I decided to hold my tongue.

“Who’s responsible for this?” she said gesturing with a wave of her arm to the entire exhibit hall.

I gave her a questioning look.

“It’s hot in here. This is unacceptable. I paid good money to be here. Do something,” she demanded.

I tried to explain to her that non calor sed umor est qui nobis incommodat (it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity), and that I had no control over the situation. It seemed that telling her, “Ita erat quando hic adveni (it was that way when I got here),” didn’t help the situation.

“Re vera, cara mea, mea nil refert (frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn),” she replied. Then she leaned toward me and said in a hoarse whisper, “Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem (in the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags).”

That’s when the redheaded man steped in, turned to the Medusa-like woman, and said, “Vacca Foeda! Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris (stupid Cow! If Caesar were alive, you’d be chained to an oar.)”

She gave him a vicious look before turning on her heal and stomping off toward the restroom.

Just when I though I could get back to my discussion with the cute redheaded guy, I noticed old man staring at me. I asked the old man if he had any questions or was looking for something in particular.

“Neutiquam erro (I am not lost),” he replied. “You are.”

I told him that I knew exactly where I was.

“No, you are lost. You are ignorant,” the old man insisted.

I was beginning to get a little irritated.

“Answer me this,” he said, “Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari? (How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?)”

“I haven’t a clue,” I responded truthfully.

“Ahh, I will show you the way. Come with me and learn the truth,” the old man said reaching out a long bony hand to me.

I stepped back and firmly said, “Nihil curo de ista tua stulta superstitione (I’m not interested in your dopey religious cult).”

Security finally dragged the old man away. I turned back to the cute guy just in time to see the Medusa woman fling a cat in his direction. He ducked, and the cat landed on the counter behind him. I picked up the cat, and it dug it’s claws into my arm.

“Feles mala (bad kitty)!” I exclaimed and shoved the viscous cat into a nearby cage.
I then called security to take the crazy woman away.

“Is it always like this?” the redheaded guy asked me.

“No, this year has been a little more taxing,” I explained. “Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare (I think some people in togas are plotting against me),” I said with a wink. “You want to get out of here?”

“Tuis pugis pignore! (You bet your bippy!)” he smiled.
~Finis~

(Here's where I found these Handy Latin Phrases.)

driving in latin
written by he intern who’s cubicle is next to mine. It’s kind of a prequel to my story.

I was heading downtown, 14th and Broadway to be exact. Cars were whipping past my white Jeep Cherokee. Suddenly a lone veterinarian making his way to Bartle Hall for the annual CVC shouted “Sona si latine loqueris! (Honk if you speak Latin!)” A million honks screamed from Broadway street and I was frightened. Who were these people?

“Nihil curo de ista tua stulta superstitione! (I’m not interested in your dopey religious cult!) “ I cried. No one listened and the honking continued. It drove me crazy making me miss my turn for the the Barney Allis Parking Plaza. I tossed my Mapquest directions aside and looked around to figure out where the garage was located.

Just then a homeless man approached. His B.O. burned my eyes and made them tear, but to my surprise the man wasn’t homeless. It was Dr. Swift wearing purple balloon pants.

“Are you lost, my dear?” he asked.

“Neutiquam erro. (I am not lost.) But you forgot to give MC Hammer back his pants,” I said driving off.

“Eureka! (I found it! but that isn’t Latin.)” I cried pulling into a dark, underground parking garage. I pulled my car into a stall next to a maroon Pontiac. A perky editor stepped out.

“Whew, it’s a hot one today,” Spring said.

“Non calor sed umor est qui nobis incommodat. (It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.),” I said. “Just look at what it’s doing to my hair! Di! Ecce hora! (God, look at the time!) Peggy will kill us if we don’t get inside!”

Just then commotion broke out a few stalls away ...

“Recedite, plebes! Gero rem imperialem. (Stand aside, little people! I’m here on official business.)” Greg said, his head skimming the ceiling of the garage.

“Well, shall we join the merry CVC goers?” I asked.

“Tuis pugis pignore! (You bet your bippy!),” Spring exclaimed.

And we set off towards the sun!
~Finis~