ATTACK OF THE PHONIES... Already in Progress

The PHONIES: they're coming to ignore you!

We've had the hippies, the yippies, the moonies, the yuppies, the goonies, and the dotcommies, now we have those unfortunate souls who continually stare at their phones at all hours everywhere they go until their lives and existences have no meaning: THE PHONIES!

Every age is marked by some ultima-hackneyed term that comes to typify a generation, and this one is not only just as insipid as other stereotypical labels, it's also overdue. Da-da doesn't mean to be critical, he just wants some of you to WAKE UP, put your g*ddamn phones down and look around, at yourselves, at the world, at the people around you... and maybe put those three things together in some meaningful way.

Power down, wake up, tune in.

Or failing that, howbout, "HELLO? WHERE AM I?"

Feel free to rip Da-da to shreds in the comments section. Go ahead, he can take it. Don't forget, Da-da is just being your meta-da-da. Void where prohibited. Your future may vary -- a lot.

When Grammar Nazis ATTACK

Hey! Gimme that!

Da-da was savaged earlier this week by a fearlessly anonymous grammar Nazi, claiming Da-da committed every grammar crime from split infinitives to prepositional propositionals to sentences beginning with, "And," overuse of neolgisms, and of course endless run-on sentences that ran on and on and on and on... AND on and on and on... well, they eventually stopped... SOMETIMES.

As Xerxes the Great said to Gherxjkin the Insignificant: "So?"

Da-da sees english as a LIVING DEAD LANGUAGE, one that should have its dead limbs beaten and whacked away from the doors and windows and not allowed within the confines of manifest destiny and shot in the head at your earliest convenience, leaving everyone both STRUNK and WHITE -- of course, secondarily to keep a postmodern reader's impossible interest, and primarily because Da-da thinks it's fun to flay his own language and, well... this is his blog, so he'll mangle his own language and lots of other languages till the cows return to Capistrano, il castrato. Da-da sincerely hopes this little explanation goes a long way toward assisting grammar Nazis with their greasing of 1st Person corncobs posthaste. Failing that, you could shut up and man the post for awhile. Da-da's children LOVE guests.

Give us a kiss, Adolph.

That Trick or Treat Echo

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