The Lunxicon

Another post about a term from my adolescence. It seems this blog is more like Vincent’s memoir disguised as something else. Anyway, an old friend of mine whose name I won’t reveal unless, by some bizarre stroke of coincidence, homeboy actually reads this and asks me to do so, used to refer to people in the best way. We would go out on weekends with a relatively large circle of people from our school and other international schools. As such, rather than just being able to hang out with your crew of, say, five or six or however many people, you’d have to deal with a bunch of people you didn’t like. It’s like going to a bar and seeing all your coworkers. No thanks.

Anyway, my buddy—let’s call him Mr. N—used to call these less than desirable social companions “spare parts.” So wonderfully demeaning and dehumanizing. We would be sitting around, enjoying ourselves, when a horde of less-thans would arrive at our bar of choice. There would be a collective harrumph before Mr. N would invariably say, “Ugh, why do these spare parts have to come here, man? Let’s go somewhere else.”

Now, I have never actually called someone a spare part to his or her face, probably because I don’t associate with such undesirables, but I imagine it would be extremely satisfying. First, the look of confusion (spare part? Huh? What the hell is he talking about?), followed by that instant flash of recognition, which would immediately transform into a glare of incomparable contempt.

It’s, like, a metaphor.

I highly urge you to add this to your vocabulary. Try it out some time. WOW your buddies with your creative shit-talking terms. If you are a hot girl, give me your number; after having done that, and after getting fed up with my calling you every day asking if i can touch your belly button, you can complain to your friends:

“Man, that dude keeps calling me.”
“Why did you give him your number?”
“I don’t know, I mean… he seemed nice enough, but he is just such a spare part.”

See how ultimately useless and unworthy it makes me sound?

Dudes, if you are at a bar and are thinking, Man, I really wanna fight tonight, as happens to me ALL the time, try this out: Find a guy (or group of guys if you roll deep) who looks much weaker and less intimidating than you (i have found this to be a problem, which is why my endeavors in fisticuffs are limited to scraps in the junior high playground—God bless my youthful complexion). Once you have identified your punching bag, simply give the useless pencilneck a once over and say, “hmm, I didn’t realize it was spare part night at [insert name of bar] tonight. You get free drinks, too?” If the dude is too dim to understand what is going on, don’t be shy. Simply explain to him what you mean. A banquet of blows is sure to erupt.

So, there you have it. Try it out. I have been using the term for quite a while now, and even got my parents saying it! (No longer is everyone my dad meets a weirdo; now he meets both weirdos and spare parts.) It will be a wonderful addition to your linguistic repertoire, and it will allow you to complain about people in a hilarious manner.

Go 4 EET!