A recent story illustrates this. Kathryn Remlinger of Grand Valley State University in Michigan is well known in dialectology and sociolinguistics for her work on English spoken in Michigan's Upper Penninsula. That region is known as the UP, the people from there as Yoopers and their dialect as Yooper. There's a small industry of Yooper humor (including dialect, see picture) and the band Da Yoopers are a riot. ("Songs for Fart Lovers" may or may not be your cup of tea, but they are brilliant.)
We're pretty far from the UP down here in Madison, but news does get around and a story about her work recently showed up in a few Wisconsin papers, with versions of this one running in places like Beaver Dam (east and a little north of Madison). So far, so good. But eventually this story hit the 'opinion' sections, and we have the Wisconsin State Journal's contribution on it here. Before reading on, follow that link and check the piece out.
So, back after reading it now? The wildly overdone eye dialect (trying to represent accents in spelling) doesn't do much for me, and the raft of lame jokes wears on you. (And my brother Phil is hardly dumb as a post and we all do trust him to bring the Leinie's to our Stanley Cup parties.) But do you get a real idea of what Remlinger is doing from this story? Using the Up Nort' pseudo-dialect to call "da perfesser's" grant to study historical speech patterns "a waste of money" (and calling her "dis gal") is a step too far. (Let's not even comment on the crassest insult.) Yeah, this is 'humor' or 'parody', he doesn't really mean it, blah blah freakin' blah. Bromley should be banned from the UP for making Yoopers look bad: I've never met anybody from up there nearly as dumb or as mean as this guy. You're not funny, man, certainly not like Da Yoopers. And not even as funny as this:
A little ol' lady with fading eyesight decides to go ice fishing after she heard how good ice fishing was that winter. She heads out to the edge of town very early one dark morning, finds an ice covered pond and starts drilling through the ice. A voice from above thunders out: " You won't find any fish there". So she moves to the other side , and again the voice booms out "There aren't aren't any fish there either "In desperation she says " Okay God, there aren't any fish here, and not on the other side. So tell me where are the fish". "I'm not God", says the voice, "I'm just the guy who runs the hockey rink."Big doffs of the tuque to Eric Raimy and (second-hand) to Greg Smith. And a wag of the finger to Ben Bromley.