Diggity Dank!

“Language is a virus from outer space.” —William S. Burroughs

The English language is dead. That’s right, people…you heard me: English as we once knew it has kicked the bucket. Right now as you read this, the language we all used to grumble about studying as children is pushing up daisies and feeding worms. Why, you may ask? Because we, the people, have killed it.

Ah, ‘tis but with a sense of remorse that I fondly recall the days of yore when noble were our tongues and lofty was our daily verbiage. The spoken word raised us up from morbid sacks of water and clay, heavy of brow and dragging our knuckles across the ground, to creatures of enlightenment and insight. And who would have thought that we would regress back to our most humble beginnings in such a short time? Not I.

The memorable and lyrical compositions of such literary masters as Walt Whitman and Edgar Allen Poe (…Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”) have recently been replaced with such nonsensical babble as: "I jammed the roscoe in his button and said, 'Close your yap, bo, or I squirt metal.'" (I would reference this quote if I knew the original source, but I rather fear that the author in question would fare far better if he remained anonymous.) In short, the crap that drips from our tongues, pens, and keyboards is naught but a shabby collection of nonsense and monosyllabic goo. And it’s a wonder that anyone can make sense of anything we say.

Take, for example, the phrase: shit a cold, purple Twinkie. What the hell does that mean? Guesses, anyone? Well, according to the Online Slang Dictionary (which you can happily peruse at this site: http://www.ocf.berkeley.edu/~wrader/slang/index.html), it means “to react with extreme or irrational distress or composure”. I would have never figured it out on my own. Thank god for the internet! Or how about the phrase: get crunk with someone. Ghastly, isn’t it? I shiver. Apparently it means to approach someone in a hostile manner, yet I daresay that the phrase, alone, is enough to send me running in the opposite direction. And should someone carrying a gatt in their grape smugglers get crunk with you, you’re in some pretty deep shit. In fact, you might even lay cable right then and there. Man, that’s really kumfumbled, isn’t it?

I don’t suppose there’s much hope for the resurrection of our language as it was spoken so long ago. And there’s hardly any point in me getting my bitch on about it, as I’m much more prone to marinate instead of napalming my opinions on the rest of society. Not to mention that I’d only come off looking like a wazzock. Perhaps I’m just going off the deep end about nothing and need more distractions in my life. Maybe I’ll just race off to the packie to stock up on enough junkst to make me talk to Ralph on the big white telephone. Or I just might get spun, go bogart some jacks and take off on a wild spree to get my boo some new bling-bling. Better yet, I rather imagine I could just insituate myself in a bumping sausage party and get my swerve on with a couple of diesels. Now that would be diggity dank, if you ask me!