I submitted the following to the good people at Urban Dictionary, and despite being curtly advised against using my real name, I was still hoping that my slang would captivate the masses and be catapulted into the stratosphere of public consciousness. To wit:
Fuccough
An aside coughed into one’s fist when someone is clearly talking bullshit.
I would like to thank the panel of judges for this award, including the chairman of the board, my father, who assures me that nepotism was not a determining factor in the voting…
[audience member] *fuccough*
I realize that this is not a life-changing piece of wordplay, nor have I any illusions of riding into the sunset of fame and fortune of the back of my Fuccough, but to have my little witticism dismissed via form-letter was a bit of a kick in the pants. It did leave me wondering, however, where I was to go with this thing – do I throw it away? Try to condense it for Twitter? Send it out scrawled intelligibly in longhand to a bunch of snail-mail-reading dinosaurs? Staple it to the foreheads of my enemies out of spite?
No, it seemed the only appropriate action I could take, the only option, in fact, that even slightly quelled my feverish indecision, was to start a blog.
So there you go: ammohammerbite!bite thanks to a little Fuccough.
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