Writing nonsense words

How are you with writing nonsense words? Do you make up your own? This is what yesterdays writing group was all about, although we didn't make up our own, though we could have. These were new words we were given from a dictionary. I have made up my own words sometimes - dectectorish is a book that isn't quite crime but has some sort of sleuth.

Anyway, the random words part of  the session was a great laugh. We were told that if we knew what the words meant we were to use it in that context, if not then to use it as we thought. Most of the words I didn't know (so the spellings might be off) and when you are writing there's not much time to think about what they might mean. I should say that when the last one or two words are given we are told they are the last one or two so we can try and wind up a story. Sometimes it's possible. Other times not. Anyway, my first mini story came out like this (words in bold):

So I recombobulate the thingy and present it to her. Eyes roll in her head.
'It's fixed,' I say.
'You mean you recomblanketed it,' she scoffs.
'If you say so.'
Her hand comes out and takes my hard work, inspects it. 'Poringers!' she says. 'I could do better myself.'
'Well, don't let me stop you. Be my guest.'
She shoves it in the snowitka and pulls the handle. I hear a crunch and there goes my repair.
'Wouldyounot think of the hours I put in?' I cry.
'I would if you did a decent job, but you're just a curiotrician. You like the thought of putting things right, even think you can do it, but no.'
'Fine,' I say. 'Be a quillmongering woman, but you used to like the fact that I could take things apart and put them back together.'
'Well,' she pulls herself up. ' I did until you put them back in the wrong order.'
'You're just a noseyflin, sticking it into my repair business. You know nothing.'

My second piece was this:

It was by Brickspace, and everyone wanted to buy it. No one knew what it was, what it represented, but that wasn't the point. It was by Brickspace and called Cabbydoo. The colours were vibrant, sloshed this way and that, like a Jackson Pollack but a bit more gypit. It wasn't impersonating anything, it was real and raw. In a schnoodle the bidding war began, hands flying into the air like a swindletree, which is what I thought this was anyway. Who'd pay that kind of cash for a snoosefest painting, an invert of colours slung on a canvas? But there you go, That's art for you. I watched the figure rise. A contempo of men were trying to outbid one another until only one bidder remained. Brickspace must be laughing.