By Tim Sanders

Here is the answer to a question which I’m sure has bothered you for years. Yes, according to an August 23 article in the UK Guardian, cows do indeed moo with a regional accent.

The article explains that "dairy farmers in Somerset noticed a local twang to the sounds made by their animals, and experts confirmed that different herds made different sounds." And these experts were not just your run-of-the-mill udder and cud experts, either. No, they were professors from prestigious British universities. Dr. Jeanine Treffers-Daller, a linguistics professor from Bristol with an actual hyphenated name, said that the accent may be learned from relatives, and added: "When we are learning to speak, we adopt a local variety of language spoken by our parents, so the same could be said about the variation in the West Country cow moo."

Members of the West Country Farmhouse Cheesemakers group, who first noticed the phenomenon, disagreed. They thought that the variation in cow accents was due to "the close bond between farmer and cow."

I suppose the same would hold true for North American cows. More than likely, if one were to study cow pronunciation on this side of the Atlantic, he would find that Boston cows emit "MOO-AR" sounds, Tuscaloosa cows say "MOO-EEEE," Montreal cows say "MOI," and Detroit cows simply pronounce it "MO."

And the discussion of bovine phonetics naturally leads to an examination of another ruminating quadruped and its repetitive use of certain words. I refer to the telemarketer.

I have received numerous phone calls from telemarketers who a) first determine if I am indeed "Timothy Sanders," and then b) use the odious "Timothy" (a name which my wife never uses unless I am in serious trouble) over and over again in their sales pitch. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about:

"Hello, TIMOTHY, this is Cicely, and I’m calling, TIMOTHY, about a wonderful, free vacation, TIMOTHY, which is available to you at no cost. This is not a sales promotion, TIMOTHY, but a free gift, TIMOTHY. How would you and your family like an all-expense-paid trip to exotic Van Buren, Ohio, within a stone’s throw of that fabulous Midwestern tourist mecca, Findlay, TIMOTHY? I’m sure you’ll agree, TIMOTHY, that four days and two nights free in a spacious, one-and-a-half star motel room, TIMOTHY, is the kind of offer no one would refuse, TIMOTHY. And how, you ask, TIMOTHY, can we here at Scenic Southeastern Vacations and Septic Systems afford to offer such a wonderful gift, TIMOTHY? Well, TIMOTHY blah, blah, blah TIMOTHY yammer, yammer, yammer TIMOTHY ... TIMOTHY–CLICK!"

The issue here, of course, is not the accent the telemarketer uses, only the reason for the use of a particular word. As you may have noticed, the key word here is not "moo," but "TIMOTHY". That is why we capitalized it. My own research reveals that the constant repetition of that name is meant to let the poor, unsuspecting homeowner know that the caller is not just some creepy, disembodied salesperson, but in fact a creepy, disembodied salesperson who actually knows the victim’s name, and cares for him on a deeply personal level. That same telemarketer undoubtedly has a telemarketer’s instruction booklet which advises, "If homeowner prefers to be called ‘LESTER,’ you may substitute ‘LESTER’ for ‘TIMOTHY’ in your presentation. In the case of a ‘HAROLD’ who prefers ‘MAURICE,’ turn to sections ‘H’ and ‘M’."

So now you know why cows speak with regional accents, and why telemarketers repeat your name over and over again. But as to the current popularity of comedians with vocabularies limited to four-letter words which must be bleeped out on television, I can't answer that one.

A week ago I watched as much as I could stand of Comedy Central’s Roast of former Star Trek Captain William Shatner. If you are not familiar with the roast format, you need to know that it does not involve actually marinating the guest of honor, or putting an apple in his mouth, or placing him on a spit above a bed of hot coals (although with Shatner, that might make for a very interesting reality show). No, the roast is a way of honoring actors, comedians, and other such indispensable dignitaries. During this roast, various other actors and comedians, who wish to become equally indispensable one day, gather and insult the guest of honor with humorous barbs and quips. Note that the operative term here is humorous.

In olden times (1960s) many of us enjoyed the Dean Martin Roasts. There were always plenty of celebrities, like Bob Newhart, Jack Benny, Bill Cosby, Don Rickles, and Alan King to help insult the guest of honor. Those roasts were entertaining and funny, without gratuitous vulgarity. What I saw of that recent Comedy Central Roast, however, was ... well, pathetic. For one thing, the only people I recognized in attendance were Shatner, Farah Fawcett, and Betty White, and even those old fossils seemed to suffer from advanced Tourette’s Syndrome. Here’s a typical moment:

ROASTER #1: "In conclusion, William Shatner is a BLEEPING BLEEP BLEEP who is so old that his BLEEP has lost its BLEEP BLEEP! And by the way, BLEEP!"
 

HOST: "BLEEPING thank you, you BLEEP! Now here is another BLEEPING third-rate, out-of-work comedian, Lyle BLEEPING Snitz.

ROASTER #2: "Oh yeah, well BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP ... BLEEP BLEEP! Hahahahaha! Top that!"

HOST: "Really BLEEP-BLEEPING funny stuff! I almost BLEEPED myself! I can only hope our viewers are enjoying our naughtiness as BLEEPING much as we are! Now one of our fourteen BLEEPING gay celebrities will come to the dais and describe our guest of honor’s BLEEPING bodily orifices in graphic, yet humorous detail! Oh, and may I add, BLEEP!"

To call this thing sophomoric would be giving sophomores everywhere a bad name. Puerile, perhaps. I felt like I was in grade school again, hanging around a group of guys on the playground, all of us trying to impress each other with the new four-letter words we’d learned. The difference, of course, was that most of us outgrew our fascination with such silliness and actually expanded our vocabularies by the time we reached junior high.

Cows and telemarketers are both wearisome, uncomplicated creatures, and I expect no better than "MOO" from the one, and no more than the repetitive "TIMOTHY" from the other. But as a licensed, bonded, professional humorist, I expect more than "BLEEP" from comedians. Or at least I used to.

But that was back in the days of Jack Benny, George Burns, and Groucho Marx, all three of whom have undoubtedly been spending a lot of time spinning in their graves lately.