Horrible Self-Indulgence. The Spirit of Amendment. Filthy Shitting Squalor.

Retrospect is a bitch. Especially when it is facilitated by neatly-archived hyperlinks. We truly live in an age where embarassing self-reflection is at our fingertips. (And the rueful blushing begins....... now.)

The past... months of Cultural Snow have been a case-study in literary (loose sense of the word) self-indulgence. Especially intoxicated self-indulgence (see previous post)-- arguably the finest sort. For anyone who still comes to this page in hopes of something worth reading, this is me apologizing-- and furiously so-- for subjecting you to the chronic disjoint and half-baked poesy that is my inner monologue. Even I get tired of it, and as befits a Generation of Convenience the bottle is right here when I do. (Abusive drinking is funny! Haha!) As such comforts may or may not be available to you, dear friend, I'll try to filter for you again. Like we used to. In the old days when things was good, baby.

Let's ease on back to what I do better: (relatively) complete sentences in (mostly) cohesive paragraphs. Hellooooo prose. (I will understand your silence to be welcoming, darling.) So in the spirit of amendment, let's get this thang back on track.

I) Chill, a. - The quality of being relaxed, relaxing; laidback.
Ex: "Oh yeah, he's a pretty chill guy."
Ex: "Nah, the workload is pretty chill."

II) Chillax, v. - The haphazard union (some might venture further and declare abomination) of the two words "chill" and "relax."
Ex: "After my final, I'm gonna fuckin' chillax."

III) Stoked, a. - The quality of being really fucking pleased; typically about something in specific.
Ex: "I was so stoked to find out the bitch wasn't preggers after all."

Contemporary American English Vernacular: concrete evidence that humanity pulled itself out of the filthy shitting squalor of the apes, and we can put ourselves right back there again, damn it.