The Bird’s The Word: I Forgot The Bird

The Bird’s The Word

The bird’s the word. Sometimes as I’ve gotten older, especially with all the added stress of adulting, I forget the bird. That means that I forget a word from time to time. A word that, much like a bird, flutters off when I approach.

A few days back I had such an incident and was having trouble remembering a word. This usually isn’t that big of a deal. A momentary lapse in memory and the word shows up. If not, I just use my internal thesaurus and find an acceptable replacement or spray words like a scatter gun, until people get the point. I did the latter.

Did I Say One? Better Make It Three.

In fact, I forgot a word three times in an eight hour period. Because for some reason I felt like using, the exact same word that I could not recall, couldn’t remember to save my life, in three different scenarios. Two of those instances were about the same topic so it’s understandable. The other one was about some other random topic.

Either way, all the conversations were about taking a couple of different things and putting them together. However, putting these things together and getting them to live in harmony is a bit of challenge. I said many sentences and words – oh how the conversations were going so well. Then like a fat kid tripping over the carpet on his run to the buffet for round two of mac and cheese, the conversation fell flat and immediately stopped. Everyone looked at me, the looks on their faces said, “What’s up with fatty?”

The Eagle Has Landed

I stood there silent like the wind had been knocked out me. There was stammering. Then, in the presence of mission critical failure, the deluge of words sprayed forth. Some were close, some weren’t. Hell, I even described what I was trying to say and people started blurting out suggestions. Marry is what we landed on, but it wasn’t the right word. These things being put together weren’t in love, they had differences. It was a hollow victory, a concession, it felt flat. Like drinking water that has sat in a glass for a day.

However, it did work. The conversation moved on and completed. I went on with life and came home. Around nine that night I was preparing coffee for the morning. While I was filling the carafe at the sink, I happened to look over at the coffee machine. In that instant, like a sucker punch of knowledge – BOOM! – I saw the word in my head. It’s time in the sin bin was up and was once again back out on the ice of my vocabulary. The bird’s the word and the bird’s name was reconcile!

I wrote most of this post back in March of 2016. I forgot all about it. When I read the post, I could remember the situation, couldn’t remember the word. For my sanity, I hoped that I had written the word in the post.


Featured Image by DAMIANUM CASTRUM from Pexels 

Portmanteau: When Used For Ill, Not Good


A portmanteau is typically a pretty good time. Some can be pretty fun to say and they’re almost always fun to create. There’s just something about taking two words and cramming them together so hard that a few of letters from each respective word just shoot out to the side never to be heard from again.

Sexting, jazzercise, slanguage, Bennifer are all great examples of portmanteaus. With the exception of the last one, all are a guilt free good time to say. That last one however reminds me of dark times. People should never know that much about Ben Affleck or Jennifer Lopez, or was it Garner? I can’t remember.

Occasionally the power of creating a portmanteau becomes too much to responsibly handle. When that happens the portmanteau may not have the best environment to grow up in. Sometimes a portmanteau goes bad. Grows a ponytail and refuses to maintain it’s eyebrows. Basically, it becomes Steven Seagal. Subsequently, much like Steven Segal, it also quits being fun.

Portmanteau, I Want Your Gun And Your Badge On My Desk!

Also, like Steven Seagal – who is the constant good cop who’s gone above the law- when portmanteaus go bad, we need to demand they turn in their gun and badge. While Portmanteaus don’t actually carry guns, there is a metaphor here. For portmanteaus, their gun is that pop they provide when said. The way the tongue and mouth seem to move a bit differently and the brain calls you on it.

As for the badge, a little known fact is portmanteaus all come with a certificate that the creator can display on their wall with pride. A greater known fact is that people who create portmanteaus never have anyone over to see said certificate. Not just for the occasion of seeing the certificate, just in general. It’s sad*.

Even if they did have people over, sometimes that pride wouldn’t be deserved. Occasionally, some overzealous wordsmith goes too far in the creation of a portmanteau. Perhaps they think it sounds funny. Maybe they just got tired of saying two clunky ass words together. Whatever the reason, they’ve gone above the law.

The 1947 Incident

It was 1947 and three types of people were tired of saying two clunky uncomfortable words, funeral directors, cremation folks, and government types. After boozy lunch – like the kind seen in Mad Men – they took it upon themselves to create a portmanteau so foul and opposite day of all other portmanteaus, that it was the direct antithesis of what a portmanteau should be. This one isn’t a rogue cop, it’s a gawhddamn satan spawned evil entity! Like other portmanteaus, it intrigues people to say it. Which is the cruelest part. Yet, it’s dark subject matter and more than likely poorly timed usage turns one’s sense of humor against them at a vulnerable time.

Remains + Cremation = Cremains

Cremains, you can’t help but catch the intrigue, feel that slight giggle. Even after the initial encounter. The elation in your heart as a portmanteau is used. Oh, it sounds funny and seems like it would be fun to say. At the same time, some soft spoken guy has just handed you a bucket and said, “Here are your father’s…”

That’s when one might think, “Did I hear that right?” After hearing cremains another twenty times in the next week, there will be no doubt. It’s a fucking terrible portmanteau. Cremains, turn in your gun and badge. You’re through and will never work in this town again.

Hey, on a lighter note, you may think WiFi is a portmanteau. You’re wrong!


*I feel that’s it’s critical to note that this entire paragraph is not true. Except for the part about not having anyone over.

SEO Made Me Do It: New Words For The Year

SEO – Search Engine Optimization

SEO made me do it! SEO makes a lot of people do a lot of things. Good things, mostly weird things, always narcissistic things that reek of desperation. It’s the reason why people create web pages devoted to lists. SEO causes people to make punchy sans-article titles and sentences. There’s also all those calls to action. Basically, SEO is why you hate people that share posts that read “37 Ways Banana Cream Pie Catches Fire: What Lactose Intolerant Cat Does Next Is Amazing!”

That is SEO at work. Notice the lack of articles and the silky smooth tone of a late 1860’s snake oil salesman. In fact, no stop words show up until after the colon or as people in the super sexy search engine optimization biz refer to it as, the call to action. That title is so silky smooth, machines could crawl the shit out of that page and properly catalogue it.

The Future Was Yesterday and The Machine War Far Less Theatrical Than We All Expected

Essentially, SEO has made some human bend the knee like the machines have already risen and won the damn war. That human has gone on to create lots and lots of content on the internet. Of course, so many other humans are doing the exact same thing and they’re all desperate for hits. Trying to find the right words. Unique things that stand out in the subset of unique yet broad subjects.

Now, Onto The Original Topic (Go ahead and scout scroll, but it’s not much longer)

If you’ve been around recently, you will have noticed that I’ve been going on about toiletfires. If you are a super astute wordsmith or at least a diligently astute breaker downer of word parades. You may have noticed a difference between this post and this one.

I’m sure you’ve clicked those links and either refreshed yourself because you previously read both posts, or are crackling with the afterglow of having read one of those posts for the first time. Perhaps even both, you scandalous thing.

Did You Notice The Difference Between The Posts?

It happened while finishing up the second post. The previous post had been more about 2017, or something other than a fiery toilet. I have no recollection what my SEO keyword was. However, when it came time for the second post I was faced with a dilemma.

I typed toilet fire into the keyword area and the little circle went orange. I tried it a few more ways, but my free version of Yoast wasn’t having it. It was then that I took a bold step forward for humankind.

Somebody Get Webster’s On The Phone. At The Very Least Urban Dictionary.

It was in that moment, wanting to get that dang post up on the blog and not wanting to spend ten dollars a month, that my hand was forced. Forced to turn my previously open compound word toilet fire into the closed compound word toiletfire.

I felt like a real rebel! Not even Urban Dictionary has been so bold as to combine the words toilet and fire. To be honest, there’s something exhilarating about putting two words through the holy matrimony ringer. To step out in front of the humanity and become a representative of literary population. “You know what, these words belong together. Like peanut butter and chocolate! Like Ross and Rachel! Everyone can see it, just that no one’s done it yet!”

Much like an uber driver after popping a Vicodin or a child on coke and pop rocks, no one could stop me. That little circle went from orange to green. I hit publish before any crawl-bot 6000 thought otherwise.

When Grammarly told me toiletfire should be toilet fire, I added that to the dictionary. You’re welcome!

Penis, Penis, Penis, Vagina, Vagina, Vagina: Their Slang Terms And How We Have Been Using Them Wrong.

  Now that I have put myself on the road to be in several people’s Google search results, I would like to talk about the body parts thrice mentioned above. For years we have used slang for such words to express certain human traits. I am talking about dick and pussy – hereby known as Tom Johnson and Vera Dirks – and boy, we have been using them wrong!

  Take for instance pussy, I mean Vera Dirks. It’s three main uses are to emasculate a male, describe extreme weakness, and as slang for a females body part, usually during sex or in pornography. Have you seen a porn? Vera Dirks are anything but pussies in those things! Go ahead try ramming a Tom Johnson with such rabid vigor. Can’t be done. They are tender and fragile things. Why else would Vera Dirks become lubed, dilated and flushed with passion other than to prevent damage to tender Tom Johnsons.

  Which leads me to dick which really has one main use and that is to let a guy know that he is stuffy, fickle and ranging somewhere between mean and evil. Really people, how many times has the mythical Vera Dirks remained elusive? How many times have you just not been able to satisfy a Vera Dirks in a timely manner before you yourself were exhausted or embarrassedly spent? Seriously these things go Rosemary’s Baby once a month. Sending their owners into a weeks worth of pain and suffering. When they don’t, they shoot an eight pound barbed bowling ball at the end of the nine months armistice. Eight pounds! With arms, legs, and lungs! Lungs perpetually filled with air to keep the screaming cranked to eleven. Tom Johnsons can’t even tolerate a one millimeter kidney stone.That’s right, Vera Dirks are dicks! Evil,malignant dicks with an incredible PR department as their popularity has never once wavered in the history of the world. They are still incredibly sought after all these years, regardless of friendships, treaties, and how many people have to die.

  Tom Johnson’s are pussies. I’ve honestly not even talked about them much in this post. They look stupid, have boring derivative personalities, and usually have terrible hair cuts. Tom Johnsons are the bench warming dumb jocks of the anatomy world! You tell them to stand up, they stand up. You tell them to sit down, they sit down. Hell sometimes they just do that on their own at the most inopportune moments. They need to be constantly protected and have all sorts of gear to do so. And yet they are still easily injured and pout after the lightest of taps.

  After this small amount of evidence I can only assume that you will begin the conversion to switching these words to their proper use. It will take time. Sex is going to need to be recontextualized. Maybe you should give that self aware prick at work a compliment and call him a pussy. Enjoy his deflated ego for the week and rest easy that you didn’t insult anyone. Good news for you, he will probably never find this blogpost. Do it! Don’t be dick!

Fat: The Socially Acceptable Word and the People You Can Still Make Fun Of.

  Fat people. They are everywhere, every ethnicity has ‘em and according to the news we will be getting more of ‘em. I could throw some fancy statistic at you showing all of this, but I thought I would give you something to google. What I am concerned with is, even though there is a great amount of our population who are two turkeys this side of Cliff Claven’s – whatever side Norm was sitting on – it is still socially acceptable to hate and fear their condition. A condition that ultimately has the brunt of the blame placed on the person with said condition.

  To prove my point I don’t really need to look any further than our lexicon. We don’t say the “R” word, we say mentally handicapped. We don’t say the “M” word we say little person. We don’t say the “J” word, we say custodian. People seem to be so easily offended these days that there is no shortage of alternative and more “politically correct sounding” words. I am not even sure if should say “gay” anymore and I find myself autocorrecting from “black” to “African-American.”

  That said, there is one word I am absolutely positive I can say twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, in a room full of the “people” I am talking about and that word is “fat!” Let’s face it, obese is not the nice politically correct word for fat. Obese is scientific for “DAYYEMN!” In civilian society, obese means super fat! Fat times two to the power of two! It is true we have “less hurtful and more good natured” ways of saying fat such as: plump, big boned, more to love.  As good natured as they are, they mean the same thing though and they and many more are deemed socially acceptable. Go ahead, call a mentally handicapped person, ”Corky” or a member of the custodial staff, “Mr. Clean” see what happens[1].

  I have also become certain that television was created to make fat people feel absolutely horrible for being fat and skinny people to look on in horror at the alternative to their celery stick eatin’ lives. I can’t watch more than one hour of television on a major non-specialty network without seeing at least one “so, you seem to have a weight issue, what are you going to do about it commercial.” I certainly don’t – nor should I – see commercials for “so you are mentally handicapped, so you are gay, so you are a little person” and so on.  You get the point without me spiraling into stuff that becomes incredibly politically incorrect. Of course there those who will say that the people mentioned above cannot help their conditions – if they can even be considered conditions. Although, some of those people will not cut overweight people any slack and place the blame solely on them.

   I am not saying that people shouldn’t trade the Doritos for a pair of Reeboks, but I have witnessed skinny size zero girls pack away potato chips like a dire squirrel packs away nuts for winter and not gain a god damn pound. While I myself can eat a fun size candy bar, run five kilometers and still see that tasty little fucker’s contribution to my glorious man rack.

  Alright bring it on in for the group hug, time to button this up. What I am really getting at is, with all these parades, days, PSA’s, and societal shifts to be accepted, there is one group that is being left out.

[1] Hey Internet, don’t do this. It is mean.