“What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Every few years, our English language comes under attack by slangers (n. lazy motherfuckers who think it’s cool and trendy to butcher a perfectly fine word by lopping off a few syllables or combining it with a related word). I blame cell phones for the latest massacre. People are too busy driving, walking, or working to take the time to write properly formed sentences in a text message. So, they abbreviate, often saving nothing more than a letter or two. These mouth-breathers become infected with the word virus, which begins to affect their speech.
When someone speaks to me in text language, I tap my mental “ignore” button.
“Oh em gee, it’s obvee you’re just a hater.”
“Were you raised by orangutans?”
“Ew, shut it. Like, you’re a douchey creepskate. Grossballs.”
“Do us all a favor and find yourself a shower, iron, and a train to jump in front of, you lumpy frumpster.”
“Like, I think you have BMS.”
“BMS? Hm. Big meaty salami?”
“Bitchy man syndrome.”
“Ah. You’re right. I’m going through manopause–having hot flashes and the uncontrollable desire to shove that iPhone and PBR can up your dookie maker.”
“You’re redickish. I, like, H-nine you.”
“Like, H-eight plus one: mega-hatred.”
“Don’t you have some frozen fries awaiting your attention?”
“As if I would work at Mickey Dee’s. I’m an artist, you NARP.”
“NARP? Not asshole, real pleasant?”
“Close. Non-athletic regular person.”
“Hey, shit-for-brains, I am so athletic. I can throw, hit, and catch a baseball. Oh, and I work out. You SYMTW.”
“Smelly yoga mat toe whiffer.”
“Um, TBH, you need to chizz. I’m still at the uni, and my teach says I’m totally a HENRY.”
“Fuck. TBH? Tiny balding head?”
“Yes, but no. To be honest.”
“And, what the fuck is chizz? Cheese Whiz?”
“No, it means chill out.”
“Blow me. And, why would your teacher call you a HENRY? You’re more like a SAM: stupid ass monkey.”
“HENRY means I’m a high earner, not rich yet.”
“Now I H-ten you.”
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