I just wanted to give kudos to our friend, “Bust.” Hugely versatile and wonderfully short and sweet, it’s  been used to express a variety of emotions and thoughts over  a wide spectrum of contexts.  It is so multifaceted that I don’t even know where to begin.

I will skip the obvious meanings like “busted up the party,” “busted that bitchass motherfucker’s nose,” “I got busted doing a line off my brother’s wang.”etc.” Instead, I will focus on three less traditional, but no less useful, uh, uses.

My sophomore year in college, I roomed with a fellow with whom I quite enjoyed hanging out. He introduced me to 32-bit videogame consoles, death metal, and lots of really awesome bands that made me want to punch random people in the face. (Luckily, I am a generally reserved fellow and did not succumb to this desire, because I would probably have gotten my ass kicked many times and perhaps been sent to jail where i would have gotten my ass kicked even more times and probably have been sodomized repeatedly and in a very violent manner.)  Anyway, his friends from Long Island would come visit a lot, and would, naturally, talk about girls (womyn, if you are a weirdo). Once, I heard one of them exclaim, “Yo, whatever, man; that chick is BUSTED!”  Though I had never heard this phrase before, I instantly knew what it meant. You know you have a great piece of diction when it is instantly understandable.   It’s also a great logical next step. It’s obviously used as a truncation for “Yo, whatever, man; that chick looks as though somebody busted her face up with a hammer.” Or, for the slower or more sensitive reader ,  “That female is rather unattractive.”

Somewhat related, though not at all really, is the use of the word to refer to the actually kind of gross but ultimately satisfying and ecstatic (or shameful, depending on the context) of the ejaculation of seminal fluid. See, “Oh shit, i’m gonna bust,”  “Yeah, baby, turn over and lemme bust all over your ass,” etc. Now, this isn’t the most refined of terms. Nor is it all that impressive. However, I am a big fan of alternative names for bodily emissions. So suck it.

The final, and perhaps least known, use of “bust” I will discuss is related to the down-syndrome-esque form of dancing known as moshing.  Picture the scene: It is a saturday evening. You are in a dirty, cramped room filled with a bunch of white dudes with tattoos everywhere. Some of them have their shirts off; some of them are dressed for the wrong skin color; some of them are decked in skintight jeans, $200 sneakers, and Youth-large shirts. A band plays–the singer is jumping around like a frog on speed. The crowd is surging this way and that. Suddenly, the song stops for a half second as the inebriated amphibian yells out, “Bust it!” The band starts up again like a broken metronome–kind of on time, but not really–and all the wigger dudes start beating the shit out of the dudes in tight pants, under the guise of representin in the pit. The appeal of this scenario is obviously not universal, but I love the use of “bust” as a mosh call.  Again, suck it.

In conclusion, “bust” is like the garlic of words. It is appropriate for nearly any occasion: it can be soothing (“Aw yeah, baby, I’m gonna bust.”) or abrasive (“I’m gonna bust you up, buster”). So, the next time you are cooking in the conversational kitchen of life, throw some “bust” in your sauce for a true culino-lexical treat.

Blech is an interesting “word.” Considered more of an utterance than an actual word to most people, it has a couple of uses, but only one that is particularly widespread. Here’s a typical instance:

“Yo, dude . What’s up? How was dinner last night?”
“Blech! It was nasty. Instead of pork, our dumplings were filled with grey pubic hair.”

Here, in an example of its most common usage, it is an indicator of disgust. However, for those familiar with hardcore music from the mid to late 90s, it has an entirely different meaning. Popularized by the innovative vocal stylings of Rick Healey, of the band 25 Ta Life (and, later, Comin’ Correct), it came to mean whatever you wanted it to. Let’s review the evidence. Following are the lyrics to the song Short Fuse (apologies for the grammar mistakes, I just copied and pasted because I’m lazy):

You ain’t down with my actions you ain’t down with what I say. Kid that’s your opinion now get outta my way. Cause face to face my shit will blow up. Mush ya in da face my respect I’ll take. Speaking the truth and your getting upset. To caught up in those fantasies that fill your head. Shortfuse and your keepin on me. Testing my patience that’s the wrong thing. Short fuse and your pissing me off put up you fists. Show me what you’re made of.

Below is a video of this song being performed at the Wetlands (RIP) in 1996. If you are lazy, skip to about 1:13 or so for the first really great “blech.”

As you can see, “blech” is used here to great effect. Enunciation is for da birds, Rick would say. But, he’d pronounce it “blech blech da blech.” Try it out! If you have something uncomfortable to bring up with someone, pull a Rick Ta Life. Say your boyfriend really needs to trim his pubic hair (and perhaps use them as dumpling-filling) because that shit is nasty and you already own some dental floss. Your boyfriend, let’s call him Todd, is also a hugely whiny and defensive pussy (who, by the way, you are way too good for). So, bringing this up would spark yet another conversation about how you are always cutting him down. Instead of saying, “Todd, my ravager, I was hoping it would be possible for you to perhaps trim the lawn beneath your mighty oak of fuck,” simply translate it to Rick-speak: “blech blech blech bleeeeeeeeeeeeeech fuck.”

Problem solved! When he doesn’t do it, you can accuse him of not listening to you and dump his ass for a hairless love god from some foreign country (people HATE getting dumped for foreigners).

Now, from this evolved a different, though related, use of blech. This newer usage stays a little closer to the roots of the term in the sense that it is simply an utterance—a glorified grunt, even. Bands began to blech before super brutal mosh parts. More of an exclamation of brutality than anything else, the blech is used to alert everyone that they are about to be expected to mosh heavily or risk being a huge pussy and a poser. A good example is in the video below. The sound quality is poor, but you will get over it. I recommend forwarding to roughly 2:00 if you find the music intolerable. At around this point, there is a minorly brutal mosh part going on, but at 2:18, the singer Blechs the fuck outta the crowd and suddenly the hardness factor increases immensely. check it:

That’s right. In closing, I’d like to just say, blech blech, bitches.

Ayo, so i am very lax on updates these days. Damn this niche topic of mine! Anyway, on February 7, I was delighted and amazed when I got my daily e-mail from the Oxford English Dictionary Online proclaiming “head-banging” the word of the day! Check it:

1. a. Psychol. The action or process of shaking or banging the head, sometimes accompanied by violent rocking of the body, which is often unremarkable in young children but in adults is usu. associated with mental disorder.
1928 Arch. Neurol. & Psychiatry (Chicago) XIX. 865 The ‘explosive’ phenomena selected were infantile convulsions, breath-holding, head-banging and a miscellaneous group of periodic attacks. 1953 HINSIE & SHATZKY Psychiatric Dict. (ed. 2) 650/2 Head-banging, one of the many typical physical exertions..observed during a temper tantrum in small children. 1977 P. LEACH Baby & Child iv. 218 Head banging is a slightly worrying habit even if the baby only does it in her cot at night.

b. transf. and fig. Esp. the vigorous head-shaking engaged in by fans of heavy metal music.
1979 in K. HUDSON Dict. Teenage Revolution (1983) 97 This is where the fans keep in trim for concerts, practising the subtle art of headbanging. 1987 Washington Post 4 June C4/2 In time came AC/DC, which begat headbanging, and Van Halen, which begat teen-age boys across the land with two-handed hammer-on and pull-off techniques.

2. The action or process of establishing discipline or collaboration between uncooperative parties by, or as if by, ‘knocking their heads together’.
1975 Economist 6 Dec. 57/3 Perhaps the Russians, who did some head-banging of their own with the rival Communist leaders in Moscow earlier this year, can lend a hand.

Also {sm}head-banger n., one who engages in head-banging, esp. as a fan of heavy metal music; also transf. and fig.
1979 Melody Maker 31 Mar. 18/4 Their fans are long-haired headbangers. 1983 Daily Tel. 13 June 1/1 A solemn commitment from anybody in the leadership stakes that they will get rid of the head-bangers in the party, and by that I mean the extremists and the Militants. 1985 M. MUNRO Patter 32 Headbanger or heidbanger,..this is a popular term for someone considered crazy, especially if dangerous… This usage predates the contemporary alternative meaning of a heavy-metal enthusiast. 1986 Telegraph (Brisbane) 21 Aug. 22/1 Brisbane headbangers will have a chance to scream and wave their fists when Dio plays at Festival Hall. 1989 Observer 19 Feb. 13/7 In the European Parliament, they sit alone with a few Spanish and Danish head-bangers, while the main conservative grouping excludes them.

As a longtime fan of heavy metal music (except for hair metal, which is totally retarded), I was pleased to see one of my favorite pastimes of adolescence chosen by the lexicographers over at the OED. Why did they choose to hyphenate it, though? This is the first time I have ever seen a hyphen used in this case. Literary warrant would dictate that its usage for the action of banging one’s head to the thrashin’ riffs of Dark Angel or Prong, for example, would lack this conspicuous hyphen. But this is all just me picking some nits, as I am prone to do. It is also a product of my bias. When I hear someone talk about or read something about “headbanging,” I automatically think of myself as a long-haired 17 year old voluntarily pinching several nerves in my neck by thrashing my head wildly to Slowly We Rot (already a classic then, some 8 years after its release), not some stupid child with some dumb disorder doing it and giving us metalheads a bad name. (Death to Mutants!)

Now, this isn’t particularly relevant to language or anything, but getting this e-mail prompted a surge of nostalgia in yours truly. I dug out CDs from my past–some embarrassing (Machine Head), some not (Obituary)–and scoured the web to see what I’d been missing in my adult life. I would undoubtedly be seen as a poser by my younger self, so I felt it was time to get back in the game and see who is the best of the brutal best in 08. My research introduced me to a new subgenre of metal that I am still kind of confused about, but with which I am also completely fascinated: wigger slam.

I can see your fingers ready to type those four common characters: wtf? Yes, wtf, indeed! Google hasn’t really been my friend in my quest to learn more about this amazingly named style of metal. From what I gather, it’s basically death metal with mosh parts that is played by and listened to by people of the wegro variety. Bands include Dying Fetus and Internal Bleeding. Of course, Internal Bleeding have been around for some time, and I used to listen to them before I even knew what a gerund was, so I can’t be THAT much of a poser, right? Then again, I always thought Dying Fetus came out of the hardcore scene more than the metal one. So complicated!!! In any case, I have vowed to become extremely well versed in the wigger slam canon if for no other reason than I should like it. Why? Let’s look at the following check-list:

• Do I listen to hip hop–primarily New York hip hop from the early 90s? Yes
• Do I listen to hardcore bands that talk about beating dudes up for being shitty and have ridiculous mosh parts? Yes
• Do I use the terms “Yo,” “That shit is dope,” “That shit is wack,” “Yeah, son,” et al? Yes
• Do I like expensive sneakers? Yes (well some of them. Some of them are really stupid. And I am far too much of a cheapass to buy them for the most part.)

That settles it. I like metal. I like wiggerish things. (Although I suppose I’d only be half wigger–perhaps chwigger would be a more appropriate term. And even that would be pushing it. Let’s say I have chwiggerish tendencies.) Ergo, wigger slam should be listed as one of my top interests on any social networking site.

There you have it.

Also, dudes… a little FYI: wearing girls pants is totally NOT metal.

Final note: I first learned of “wigger slam” thanks to the AWESOME metal blog, metal inquisition. If you like metal enough to know who Glen Benton and Tom G Warrior are, and you don’t take yourself too seriously, you need to read that shit every day.

So over at merriam-webster.com, you can find their Words of 2007. This list was put together based on votes from visitors to the site. Their top word of the year? W00t. No, seriously.

Am I the only person bothered by this? I mean, come on. How does this even make sense? Fuck. For shame, Merriam-Webster, for shame. First of all, w00t isn’t even in their database; it is in their “open dictionary,” which is their version of urban dictionary—a dictionary whose entries are user generated. Though I’m not quite sure why open-dictionary words were eligible for inclusion in this list.

Who the hell voted for that word, anyway? “OOOOOOH, a form of internet slang that peaked in popularity three years ago? How excellent! I think I will choose that as my word of the year!”

Dear God, I think I may have to go piss on my collegiate dictionary now.

No, I’m not giving the definition and I refuse to use it in an ironic sense ever again. Blast you, e-lexicographers. Blast you and your stupid voting system!

Dong is the funniest word in the English language, for my money. I don’t really have any idea why. Probably because it isn’t also my last name.

Anyway, I thought it would be funny to change SisQo’s hit, The Thong Song. Again, I’m not quite sure why. (No Homo)

“Dong Song”

This thing right here
Is lettin all the ladies know
What guys talk about
You know
The finer things in life
Hahaha
Check it out

Ooh dat dress so scandalous
And ya know another nigga couldn’t handle it
See ya shakin that thang like who’s da ish
With a look in ya eye so devilish

Uh
Ya like to dance at all the hip hop spots
And ya cruise to the crews like connect da dots
Not just urban she likes the pop
Cuz she was livin la vida loca

[BRIDGE]
She had dumps like a truck truck truck
Thighs like what what what
Baby move your butt butt butt
Uh
I think to sing it again
She had dumps like a truck truck truck
Thighs like what what what
All night long
Let me see that Dong

[CHORUS]
I like it when the beat goes da na da na
Baby make your booty go da na da na
Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That Dong th Dong Dong Dong
I like it when the beat goes da na da na
Baby make your booty go da na da na
Girl I know you wanna show da na da na
That Dong th Dong Dong Dong

That girl so scandalous
And I know another nigga couldn’t handle it
And she shakin that thang like who’s da ish
With a look in her eye so devilish

Uh
She like to dance at all the hip hop spots
And she cruise to the crews like connect da dots
Not just urban she likes the pop
Cuz she was livin la vida loca

[BRIDGE]

[CHORUS (2x)]

Whoaaa
That dress so scandalous
And I swear another nigga couldn’t handle it
See ya shakin that thang like who’s da ish
With a look in her eye so devilish

(Whoa)
Uh ya like to dance at all the hip hop spots
And ya cruise to the crews like connect da dots
Not just urban ya like the pop
Cuz she was livin la vida loca

(Whoa)
She had dumps like a truck truck truck
Thighs like what what what
Baby move your butt butt butt
(Ooh)
Uh think to sing it again
Cuz she had dumps like a truck truck truck
Thighs like what what what
Baby move your butt butt butt
Uh think to sing it again
Come on
Come on
Come on
Come on

Yeahhhh yeah

[CHORUS (3x)]

Whoa
Uh alright
Uh whoa yeah
Ooh
Whoa
(Like it when the beat goes da na da na)
(Baby make your booty go da na da na)
(Girl I know you wanna show da na da na)
Baby
(That Dong th Dong Dong Dong)

(I like it when the beat goes da na da na)
(Baby make your booty go da na da na)
(Girl I know you wanna show da na da na)
(That Dong th Dong Dong Dong)

Everyone knows some fool who is all huff and puff but with no real bite or even substance. It’s either some dude you hang out with because you’ve known him/her for years, your friend’s annoying significant other, your significant other’s annoying friend, or some other miscellaneous figure on the periphery of your life’s landscape. These types muster up the energy to bluster like a tornado, but all you want is to put on your headphones until they walk away.

What is with such blustery types? Who knows. I can’t think of a typically riveting, hilarious, and philosophical example, here and I’d apologize if I were sorry.

In any case, I love the word blustery and its related verb and noun. I’m talking, of course, about the use of the word in reference to people, rather than actual winds and storms. I think the reason behind this is that it’s just one letter (conveniently placed for typos) away from “blister,” which is strikingly appropriate. Why? You ask? Well, you have a blustery type who is all hot air and threatening and loud–a coworker, perhaps. For the most part, these people are annoying as hell, but pose no real threat or danger, like a loud dog with no teeth. All you want is for them to shut up and leave you alone so you can continue with whatever you were doing when they so rudely interrupted.

Like with a blister, all you can do is just wait for that shit to be over and done with. If you fuck with a blister, that shit is gonna hurt and probably get infected. If you tell an obnoxious, blustery coworker to shut the fuck up, there will be some fallout. Whether via a boss, another coworker, or in your dealings with them. If it’s a friend of your girl–well, we ALL know what sort of consequences one likely faces after yelling at a friend of your girl.

So, just like a blister, you just deal with it because if you try to expedite the removal of the dude from your immediate surroundings, you will have much more unpleasant crap to deal with. Sure, you won’t have pus running out of a sore in your skin, but you may not get laid for a while. And, really, is it worth it?

A few years ago, I worked as a freelance copy editor for a sports publisher. The fellow in the neighboring cubicle was a rotund fellow named Pete. Pete was a nice guy, to be sure, and he always had some great soundbites. One of my favorites is, “You’re going to Seattle? Pffft…. Should be called Rainattle.” Yes, Pete had a sparkling wit. That, however, is not the point. Pete was enormous–he weighed almost 500 lbs prior to his gastric bypass. I left the company shortly after his surgery and he still weighed an enormous amount. I’ll say it; he’ll admit it: He was huge. A mammoth mountain of a man. I was surprised that paperclips and staples didn’t get sucked into his gravitational pull and start orbiting around him.

One thing he wasn’t, though, is lugubrious. This may be a complete nonsequitur to you, but that’s why I’m writing and you are reading (or not, whatever the case may be). See, I had heard people describe others as lugubrious, and I have read the word in those pesky books that I like to stick my nose in, but I never bothered to look up the word. I always thought it referred to something that was kinda slimy and gross and did a lot of oozing of grease, and/or someone super fat with lots of pliable flesh that you could like mold into the shape of a penis or a limited edition Nike Dunk. I’m not sure how I came to this conclusion. It could be that the first three letters of the word are “lug,” so i think “big lug,” and “ubrious” just sounds like a disgusting medical adjective that relates to pus and/or some other even more disgusting liquid. Who knows? Either way, it turns out that “lugubrious” means “mournful.”

Yeah, I know: that’s nowhere near as exciting. It comes from the Latin word, “Lugubris,” which means–and this is crazy–mournful. Those crazy Romans!

Oh well, it still sounds really cool and you could probably use it inappropriately without too many people noticing. And if you’re really good at bullshitting and convincing people you know what you are talking about, you could probably convince people who should know better that it really means what I think it should–not that I would encourage such bastardization of the language.

Actually, that isn’t totally true. Today kind of sucks. It’s hot as hell outside; it’s even hotter in my apartment. Plus, I took a look at my bank statement and realized that I need to get a job as a nude model or something. However, let’s pretend I wrote this yesterday afternoon, when I was completely gruntled.

Gruntled? You ask What the hell does that mean? Well, you’ve probably heard or read about someone being disgruntled—in a bad mood. If you’re gruntled, you’re the opposite! Best thing is that it sounds so oppositional to its meaning. The harsh syllables don’t exactly bring to mind visions of skipping through a meadow with a beautiful woman (or man!) at your side, on your way to a king-sized bed covered with bizarre but sensual toys for sexy time. Quite the opposite in fact!

I’m going to test this theory on my mom the next time she calls me. I can only imagine the conversation:

“How are you, sweetie?”
“Oh, not bad. Not bad, at all. In fact, I’d say I’m quite gruntled. “
“What?”
“I’m gruntled, mom.”
“What are you talking about? Stupid.”

You know, I don’t even need to bother testing this out. I can guarantee that this will happen.  So, yeah, don’t worry, be gruntled.

For the first time in quite a while, I found myself extremely inebriated. I’m not saying this because I am bragging (“Whoah, brah, I drank like 47 beers. And then I went to the bar and did 937 shots!”), because I’m not. I’m just sayin’ is all.

But “sloshed” is such an awesome and appropriate word. When you are completely trashed, you stagger around like you’re on a sea vessel for the first time ever, the waves crashing against the hull, much like the booze sloshing around in your stomach. Your mind is clouded and everything is a little more difficult to comprehend and pay attention to–as if your brain has been dropped in a big bowl of Old E, and is being sloshed about like a really, really disgusting-looking ice cube.

However, what makes “sloshed” so great to me, is the fact that when someone is completely and totally fitshaced–the epitome of sloshedness–EVERY word he or she says sounds just like the word describing their state. Every sibilant consonant becomes a shibilant one (yeah, i made up that word, suck it). It’s awesome. And, yes, on saturday night I was a walking advertisement for appropriate diction.

You have to love the British. Well, that’s not true. They are particularly easy to dislike–especially for a product of colonial rule such as myself. However, even I will admit that they have a knack for coming up with the best expressions. Take Johnny Foreigner, for example. It is so wonderfully derisive and xenophobic. Not that xenophobia is necessarily wonderful (although derision certainly is), mind you.

It’s not a term I would really use for any occasion other than those extremely rare ones when I am discussing a particularly distasteful person. In this case, of course, the person in question would have to be a Johnny Foreigner (or Jane Foreigner, I assume, although that doesn’t nearly have quite the ring of its masculine counterpart), or simply “foreign” or whatever adjective is allowed these days.

I think what I love so much is the anonymity of it. Imagine this: Serge, assistant at an art gallery in Los Angeles, calls your house about a sculpture you just bought (obviously we aren’t talking about anything that happened to me). Your spouse answers the phone. All you hear is “What? Huh? I can’t understand you.” So you take the phone and with some difficulty conduct the conversation. Afterwards, spousal unit 1 asks who it was. You can either give her the whole story:

“Who was that?”
“Serge. He-”
“Who is Serge?”
“He works at the art gallery.”
“Oh, why does he talk so funny?”
“He’s foreign.”
“Oooh, where is he from?”
“How the hell should I know? Is dinner ready yet?”

Or, you could simply say, “Some Johnny Foreigner from the art gallery. Is dinner ready yet?” It was just some dude who is a fucking foreigner–ugh–not worth even thinking about. Efficient AND patriotic!

Sure, I’m a Johnny Foreigner. I’ll admit it. I’ll call myself that. Hell yeah, I will! Because it means that when I talk about others who fit that description, I can use the term with no guilt or hypocrisy. (Um, you know, on those rare occasions when it would be appropriate.)

Yet again, I’m going to suggest you use this term. But sparingly. Try it out at a family reunion when discussing your cousin Sandy’s Argentine husband; or the next time your overly guilty white friends have a dinner party to discuss environmentalism. The entertainment will far outweigh whatever repercussions you may face. (Sandy’s kind of a gold-digger anyway; she doesn’t really love homeboy.)