Apparently, Grammarly thinks messages only arrive in e-form.
Bad as Lucid proved, The Lipless Gods is even worse.
And here I was, wondering why I wasn't drowning in adulation.
Saturday morning, around 3 AM is the perfect time to discover nausea-inducing grammatical horrors.
No poor reader had told me how bad it was, but it is the same as not wanting to tell some random stranger about their shiny zit or a fresh slime trail of snot their Kleenex directed down onto a shirt.
Below an example of the pre-Grammarly and post-Grammarly.
Three of the little figurines rested on Tiffany’s desk. All ugly faced. A fisherman, a cop, and then some little kid, all looking like they’d been quashed down, their faces not moon-shaped like they were afflicted with Down’s Syndrome, more a genetic thing, in-breeding, and if not for long hair and a preponderance of bosom, female Beepers indistinguishable from the male.
Three of the little figurines rested on Tiffany’s desk. All ugly faced. A fisherman, a cop, and then some little kid, all looking like they’d been squashed down, their faces not moon-shaped like they were afflicted with Down syndrome, more a genetic thing, inbreeding. If not for long hair and a preponderance of bosom, female Beepers were virtually indistinguishable from their male counterparts.
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