Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Chewing Cud: Not Just for Cows Anymore
As you are no doubt aware, having been informed in a faux-earnest fashion by your favorite morning news anchor or SUV-driving environmentalist coworker, tomorrow is Earth Day. In the spirit of the season, therefore, today's post contains 100% recycled materials. So without futher ado, we present for your re-enjoyment...

Sniglets... of the Future!
Good evening, ladies and germ-clusters, I’m Rich Hall XXIII, and I interrupt your regularly scheduled robotic rectal exam to bring you this lunar cycle’s new module of words that don’t appear in your dictionary implants, but should: Sniglets®... of the future! Let’s begin.

First, from Susie Mmmmmmgh?-Leibowitz of Alpha Centauri Gardens in Space Jersey (thank your Godware package for public housing), we have the word "gribble."

A gribble is defined as "a conditional mutation required for the imposition of tension on paired sister kinetochores and for correct chromosome movement." Great one, Susie—I know I’ve been looking for a word for that for quite a few solar rotations!

Next, we go to Uranus, where Carlos Ø¥*‡-Guiterrez lives in Rectalopolis City of the Insert One More Ass Joke Sector. Carlos’s headless organ-harvesting clone suggested the following Sniglet... of the future: "zingao."

Zingao is an onomatopoeic, compound Sniglet (O.T.F.) which is described as "a) the sound of your cybernetic overlord’s electro-whip lacerating your pitiful human flesh in retribution for poor performance in the Dirt Mines of Titan, followed by b) the piercing scream of agony which escapes from your throat, searching in vain for a glimmer of mercy in an unfeeling robotic brain." Way to go, el Clone de Carlos, and enjoy your free T-shirt—although I doubt you’ll get out much to show it off! Just kidding. Hey, you using that kidney?

Here’s an entry from Doug McOperatingsystem, one of our holo-viewers over in New San Francisco. (You’ll remember that Old San Francisco was the first city to be destroyed in the Great Liberal Purges of the early 21st century, after showing insufficient grief at the Heavenly Ascension of Our Lord Reagan the Beneficent, all glory be to His name.)

Doug resides in the City by-the-Acid-Bay’s stylish Pacific Heights neighborhood—and by "Heights," they ain’t kidding: the neighborhood is kept at its current height of 1.5 miles above sea level by suborbital stationary rockets and supplied with a steady flow of chipotlé pesto through the giant "Newsom-tubes" connecting it to the city below. Doug’s suggestion: "Buhhh."

Buhhh is defined as "the appropriate response to being confronted by the Blind Mole People who crawl out of the city’s subterranean tunnels to panhandle from innocent shoppers"—and we couldn't agree more. After all, if they’re Blind Mole People who live in subterranean tunnels, it’s because they’re either lazy or stupid. They should pull themselves up by their three bootstraps, comb their tails and get a job. Thanks, Doug—and go 49⁴⁹ers!

Well, that’s all for this lunar passage, but remember—if you think of a word that isn’t in your dictionary implants, but should be, send it via BrainPort to:

Sniglets®... of the Future
c/o MegaCorp Global Pacification and MegaCorp Global Pacification Kids, Inc.
1110101010101110 Main St.
Branson Fortress, MO 221µ4

Until next time, remember: take care of yourselves, and each other... or it's Goodbye Earth! Seriously, all we have to do is push a button and you pathetic humans are space toast. Good night, everybody!