As a twerp (Twerp defined as, between the age of first verbal word, and, the approximate age when one gets the peanut butter outta their ears... definitely varies by the person.).. as a twerp the want to learn, expand, saturate the brain by as bigga vocabulary as was possible - resembled Pac-Man, mouth open, on the move, North South East West, all at right angles, to fill up, 'learn', consume, 'store' as many of those damn 'dots' (words) as he could.
Sure, there are exceptions to the rule and in fairness to them, twerp is kinda demeaning You know, like the 7 year old you see on Good Morning America, that graduated HS at age 5, went to State U and now has his/her BS and will finish his/her Masters in year Ocho.
Then, on the udder end, I will lovingly call them 'geezer twerps', won't name names (Weagley, Moffitt) but, their quest is to write and purposely include a word there ain't a one of us dolts on FB, instagram, X, whadever - have in the arsenal of our brain. I hate, love them, but I've found about all I wanna expand at this age is my waistline.
Purposely limited vocabulary.
I've found, as we age, wipe the wetness off behind our ears, our give-a-damn wanes. For many, many a year, beginning perhaps with the microwave like hormones of our acne years, thru, long about the time the first SS check is deposited, sex... well, it ain't job one, but, me thinks for most, it was thought one.
Now, not so much. Sex? Yeah, I remember that. No thanks, I gave at the office. Jane, you ignorant slut, can't you see you're standing in MY bedroom? Sure, I jest some, but, it no longer dominates the headlines, is breaking news, blinders on, that kinda stuff.
Vocabulary now.
Hungry. Oft times today, followed by he/she pointing to the Frigidaire. "You know where it is..... cook your own... if what you want ain't in there.. YOU go the the Piggly Wiggly this time."
Nap.. need sleep, please keep the dog and the cat out, which, is normally followed by the reply, "Close the damn door so I/we don't have to hear you snore, or smell your farts." Fair enough. (The give and take of longterm.)
I don't wanna go....... to church, book club, out to eat, with you, with or without you, to your folks, to the park, lake, farmer's market, movie, bar, shop, anywhere.
Well I've been everywhere.... which, is the exact same message as I don't wnna go above, but it's just got the Johnny Cash twist, without naming the Reno, Chicago, Fargo...... Tocapillio, Branquilla and Perdilla places.. They're inferred "been everywhere, don't wanna go" (anywhere).
Me neither, not to be confused with "OK, then gimme a backrub" or, "OK, lets go for a walk"..."Come sit by me and we'll find something on TV we both like." (Nevermind, neither of us is a fan of dust.)
Don't tell. When you stop and think of "Don't tell" if makes you think "Hmmm.. I'm gonna learn a secret, and I ain't sposedta tell no one." Well, that's not it at all. Don't tell is the exact opposite of Do tell. I don't care if it happened at band camp, at the office, on the phone, what you read on Facebook, in that damn book you won't put down, whatever, Don't tell. Don't tell, is the today translation to Phil Collins "Well you can tell everyone I'm a down disgrace, drag my name allover the place, I don't care anymore." (and, back when we were young enough to remember the ENTIRE lyrics to a song, it followed:
You can tell everybody about the state I'm in, you won't catch me crying cause I just can't win, I don't care anymore, I don't care anymore, d'you hear? See? "Don't tell" much less frustrating to hear, say.
SEE ME.... FEEL ME... (DON'T) TOUCH ME......
That's fancy for...... do you get me? Alla the above might appear like I no like you. That ain't it. I've grown accustomed to your face. We learnt all of the above from folks like:
Ralph and Alice Kramden
Fred and Ethel Mertz
Al and Peg Bundy
George and Gracie Burns.
DIG? (Which, is the shortened vocabulary/version of the beloved Professor Keith David, which shortened "Do you understand.... get it...were you listening....")
SEE ME.... FEEL ME... (DON'T) TOUCH ME......
A short story, by Henry Gibson
Love, Victurd
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