θɹuːˈaʊt ðæt sˈɪɹiz ðɛɹˌɑːɹ ˈeɪt ɡˈæbɚdʒˌæbz, hiː pˈoʊks fˈʌn æt nˌɪɹli ˈɛvɹɪθˌɪŋ, ɪŋklˈuːdɪŋ hɪz ˈoʊn ɑːɹtˈɪstɪk sˈɪɹiəsnəs, ðə snˈɑːbɚɹi ʌv ðoʊz hˌuː klˈeɪm təbi skˈɑːlɚz, ænd ðə wˈaɪdspɹɛd, ʌntʃˈælɪndʒd ɐsˈʌmpʃən ðæt tɹɐdˈɪʃənəl pˈeɪdʒ lˈeɪaʊt ænd, pɚtˈɪkjʊlɚli, taɪpˈɑːɡɹəfi, ɑːɹ ɡˈʌvɚnd baɪ ɪmjˈuːɾəbəl ɹˈuːlz.
Throughout that series (there are eight gabberjabbs), he pokes fun at nearly everything, including his own artistic seriousness, the snobbery of those who claim to be scholars, and the widespread, unchallenged assumption that traditional page layout and, particularly, typography, are governed by immutable rules.