The Lunxicon

One of my favorite TV shows of all time is the British bizarro-comedy League of Gentlemen (first season only). The show follows several characters who live in the small town of Royston Vasey. Almost all of the major characters are played by the same set of actors who make up the comedy troupe from whose name the show’s title was taken. The first season of the show is dark humor at its finest. The residents of Royston Vasey are a disturbingly hilarious bunch who leap prodigiously over the line separating eccentric and insane–characters such as Pauline, the unemployment counselor who treats her students like remedial third-graders; Harvey Denton, the toad- and masturbation-obsessed man who chastises his nephew Benjamin for having the gall to drop a deuce in the bathroom; and Hilary Briss, the butcher who peddles a mysteriously addictive meat to those select patrons who are in the know.

In one episode, one of the students in Pauline’s “restart” class (a class for the unemployed that teaches them how to get a job), she participated in a role-playing exercise with one of her students. The student, Ross, played an employer interviewing an applicant (Pauline). One of the questions Ross asked was, “Would you say you’re a fairly egregious person? Do you have an egregious personality?” To which she responds “Huh? yeah, yeah,” obviously ignorant of the word’s meaning, before finally commenting on how her best friends are her pens.

If you don’t know, “egregious” basically means “remarkably bad or offensive.” Pauline, of course, does have an egregious personality. However, the most egregious offense of all regarding the show is how bloody disappointing the second and third seasons were. With each episode, the scale tipped further away from funny and closer toward being annoying and just too bizarre. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate a good dose of ridiculousness from time to time (I have a blog about words I like to use, for Christ’s sake), but it just got far too insane and, well, dumb. In fact, despite my original enthusiasm for the show and my excitement at finding out what would happen to this mish mash of lovable and so, so hateful Britons, I didn’t even finish watching the final season.

What an egregious turn of events.

On the positive side, however, the interview with Pauline shows just why “egregious” is so great. It’s not a word whose meaning someone can simply guess. It originally meant “exceptional,” as derived from the Latin phrase “ex grege,” which means “to rise above the flock.” However, use of the word in an ironic, disapproving manner gained popularity around the 16th Century. Thus, its contemporary meaning was born. So, next time you meet someone who thinks he or she is a lot smarter than he/she really is–you know the type (in fact, if you know me, my face probably flashed in your mind as you read that): that assface who will never admit ignorance about anything–tell homeboy/girl, in your most flattering tone, “Wow, I have to say, that is quite an egregious outfit you’ve got on.” If it backfires, who cares? You already dislike the person, anyway!

Now, sadly, I have to fill my bathroom with an egregious odor–too many hot peppers in my sandwich at lunch.