This crazy fast-paced 21st century world can be a confusing place, what with its technologically-mediated interactions and 3D plasma tele-visual apparati. Hell, I'm still getting used to the concept of hot and cold running water. You just turn the tap on and there it is. And as soon as you've grown accustomed to this modern miracle, you need to learn how to deal with the sense of impotent outrage that occurs that one time when you turn the tap and running water does not, as expected, simply ensue. We need a word for that.
That's far too specific, pajh, you say. Balls, say I, and also bollocks, testicles, gonads, cods, tallywhackers and stones. This is exactly what English is good at, and my new best friend Mark Forsyth agrees with me.
[T]he English language is ready for anything. If you were to surprise a Frenchman in the act of putting a conger up a mare’s bottom he would probably have to splutter his way through several sentences of explanation, filled with circumlocutory verbocinations. However, ask an English-speaker why they are sodomising a horse with a creature from the deep and they can simply raise a casual eyebrow and ask:Can’t you see I’m feaguing?
The ability to explain why you’re putting an eel up a horse with such holophrastic precision is the birthright of every English-speaking man and woman, and we must reclaim it.
Likewise, we need words for the following newly discovered emotions. Some of these you may recognize:
- The mild but nonetheless tangible sense of disappointment one gets upon using a public toilet and noticing that the hand dryer is of a make other than a Dyson Airblade™. Srsly guyz. Those things are amazing.
- The rueful smile and shake of the head, directed at someone whom you otherwise respect, upon seeing them retweet their own #followfriday mentions. Oh dear.
- The involuntary twitch when your phone beeped a notification but you have your hands full for the next few minutes. Worse if you're currently having sex.
- The gradually dawning realization that a person you follow on the Twitters is actually turning out to be a big old racist.
- Combined delight and despair at the expensive new headphones you've bought, because they're so good that you'll have to re-rip everything you own as FLACs.
- Wildly seesawing confusion at the nationality of a blogger based on subtle clues in his writing style. Is he English with a hint of internationalization due to being on Internet, or is he one of those highly-educated Americans who simply sounds English? Or is that just a convoluted way of saying
Canadian? And why does this seem to matter to you anyway? Maybe you're the big old racist. But it's perfectly acceptable to be curious about the origins of a writer who interests you. Or is that what a big old racist would say?
- Vague sense of unease that you just typed
srsly guyzup there in a half-ironic fashion, but intent never comes across well in textual media and you're not sure if the reader won't just assume that you talk that way.
I don't have the benefits of a classical education necessary to retrofabrefact etymologically-plausible morphemes in this manner, except possibly just then, with
retrofabrefaction. But I can drop Die Hard references into paragraphs that you wouldn't expect.
Circumlocutory Verbocinations is going to be the name of my next band. Or possibly