Why Do We Say It Wrong on Purpose?

Because being wrong—together—is sometimes more fun than being right alone.

Why Do We Love Saying It Wrong? Because It Feels Right.

Somewhere between childhood and paying bills, language stopped being just communication—and became a playground. Saying something wrong, on purpose, isn’t a mistake. It’s mischief. It’s choosing joy over accuracy. It’s weaponizing absurdity just to get a laugh—or to confuse your overly literal friend into steamrolling their own sanity.

I once heard a guy casually tell a group of coworkers, “Let’s kill two stones with one bird.” He said it like he meant it. Nobody blinked. Either they didn’t catch it, or they were too afraid to challenge that level of confidence. Either way, the moment was perfect.

That’s the magic of intentional mis-sayings: they’re funny because they break expectation. And because they’re often couched in phrases we’ve heard since childhood—proverbs, idioms, metaphors—they disarm logic like a cartoon banana peel on a marble floor.

We call this delightful chaos “malaphors”—the unholy lovechild of two perfectly fine idioms smashed together like “burn that bridge when we get to it” or “the squeaky wheel gets the cheese.” It’s harmless wordplay with a purpose: to make someone laugh, pause, or groan in confusion.

And there’s something else going on too.

We want to be wrong together, sometimes. It signals trust. Comfort. You don’t joke like that with strangers. You do it with people who know you’re smart enough to know better—and you enjoy reminding them that intelligence and silliness are not mutually exclusive.

Saying “meecrowavé” instead of microwave, or calling a Switch a “Gameboy,” or asking, “Did you consult The Google?” when your kid won’t stop correcting you—it’s not ignorance. It’s a wink. A tug at the invisible threads of formality, a reminder that we don’t always have to take the world—or ourselves—so seriously.

Because the world is often too serious. And if saying “Worcestershire” as “war-chest-er-shy-er-sauce” or calling ravioli “rabies-oli” gives you or someone else a moment of delight? You’ve done more good than any perfect pronunciation ever could.

So go ahead. Get two birds stoned at once. Burn that bridge when you get to it. Call it a shoop. Use the michaelwave. Just remember: words are tools, but also toys.

And sometimes, the best way to connect isn’t saying the right thing.

It’s saying the wrong thing—with the right kind of joy.

How about you? “What’s your best ‘I say it wrong on purpose’ example?”