Already the phones have been ringing off of the hooks and the faxes coming in like taxes. It’s that last drive by those insipid idiots of idiom, those terrible tricksters of terminology, those dreadful deviates of declarations. They’re trying to get in one last zinger before they’re banned from torturing us with their trite bytes of verbal blight.

We’re talking, of course, about those nefarious nincompoops of nauseous needling and their last-gasp effort before the national Do Not Gall List becomes law.

You people who own phones know what we’re talking about. You’re sitting down to dinner with your family, your spouse is talking about the Shania Twain tour, your kids are asking about Good Charlotte and A Perfect Circle when suddenly… Ring!!!

And before you know it, someone’s asking you why lumber companies have so many board meetings.

Let the message go out to near and bar. Let the psychos of illiterate haikus feel our wrath. No more will we put up with remarks such as “The Rolling Stones may sound fine on CD but they were really groovy on vinyl,” or “Did you hear about Marcel Marceau going to prison for disturbing the peace? Talk about your mime and punishment.” And then there’s that biker named Snake who’s always accusing us of only posting part of the Anthrax itinerary, claiming that we’re doing things half-asped.

But no more! Soon, the list will become law and peace and quiet will return to the land once again.

However, there are those of us who feel that such a list isn’t enough, that silencing the draconian demons of doggerel is only half of the battle and that we must muster our troops and press onward with relish if we are to save every man, woman and child from the linguistic lunacy that constantly interrupts one’s enjoyment of the finer things in life, whether that be Radiohead, Prince or John Tesh.

Therefore, we will seek out the warriors of winsome wordplay. We’ll haunt them in their houses and we’ll stalk them in their cornfields. What’s more, we even have the President of the United States on our side. And we all know what happens when Bush comes to shove.

So go ahead. Keep on making remarks like “The John Mayer Australian tour is high koala-ty,” or the contract for David Gates’ Philippines show is kept in a manila envelope. We know who you are, and we’re coming after you, you purveyors of putrid phonetic prose.

In other words, you can pun but you cannot hide.