Polyglot (noun/adj) – /ˈpälēˌɡlät/

A wildly rare and increasingly necessary breed of human who knows, and is functionally able to utilize, multiple languages; a multi-tongued linguistic chameleon.
Sourced directly from the ancient and blood-soaded Greeks – polyglōttos, combining poly- (meaning “many,” or “an excessive and mind-bending amount of”) and glōtta (meaning “tongue”).

I’ve always been embarrassingly envious of polyglots.  So, at the bleeding edge of that fundamentally unnecessary and draconian exercise in sweeping government slave-control—an epoch of state-mandated hysteria more popularly known as the COVID lockdowns—I made a conscious and violently deliberate decision to renew, and significantly augment, my study of other languages. I started, logically enough, with the crumbling foundations of what I already had some vague background in. I had squandered my first two years of high school sweating through the rigid conjugations of Latin, so that is precisely where I started.
From the plague-ridden wasteland of 2020 through 2023, I completely immersed myself back into the dead tongue of the Caesars. I brutally relearned the foundational basics and began building a formidable structural edifice from there. I actually got to the dizzying, hyper-intellectual point where I could seamlessly understand the Traditional Latin Mass. If the Pope himself, or some high-ranking reptilian member of the Illuminati, had decided to randomly FaceTime me in the dead of night, I could have handily held my own in the ensuing conversation. But alas, neither the Pope nor the shadowy cabals of the Illuminati ever bothered to call, and the only authentic Latin mass in the immediate geographic area was way the hell over on the dark side of town.
So, in the wildly unhinged year of 2023, I pivoted heavily into Spanish. Given the sheer, undeniable volume of our little brown brothers from the south being illegally and unconstitutionally ushered into the country by our totally demented and befuddled President at the time, I figured I might as well be armed with the linguistic artillery to converse with the little motherfuckers in a language they could actually comprehend. At the very least, it seemed necessary for those inevitable, friction-heavy moments when I needed to tell them to move their goddamn trucks, or to politely suggest they quit hanging out in front of the Safe House drinking remarkably shitty beer and blasting cumbia—or whatever the hell rhythmic noise they were listening to—in the middle of any given night. Which, to be perfectly frank, worked well enough for exactly as long as it needed to.
But eventually, in my linguistic descent, I slammed face-first into a sentence structure that is apparently commonly utilized in everyday Spanish, which is just structurally clunky as all hell (the syntactical equivalent of a car crash, translating roughly to: “Those roses, they smell good,” or, “That man, he shit his pants.”). It is radically inefficient, and absolutely not something I wanted infecting or otherwise corrupting my own internal thought processes. So it was definitively time to make another abrupt change.
Which brings us, dear reader, to the savage reality of last week. I had analytically boiled the sprawling lexicographical universe down to three distinct choices: German, Arabic, or Gaelic (Irish). It became glaringly obvious, and very quickly at that, that both Arabic and Gaelic would be entirely too neurologically involved. They would require vastly more raw intellectual energy than I had the patience or the chemical stamina to devote to what was theoretically supposed to be a spare-time hobby. Since English is structurally a Germanic language, the choice became delightfully obvious.
And I must say, without a single shred of hyperbole: Es ist mit Abstand meine bisherige Lieblingssprache.
There are no esoteric, throat-clearing pronunciations that only drunken leprechauns can comprehend, and absolutely no mystical, sweeping symbols that demand to be read perversely from right to left. Nein! Nichts davon! Speaking German is essentially like engineering your thoughts.  Added bonus: German is undeniably one of the two best yelling languages on the face of the earth (the other, naturally, being Japanese). Further added bonus: roughly fifty percent of the music I actively consume is in German, violently sung by deeply angry German dudes, which means my native ability to accurately and aggressively scream along in the car or the shower is about to dramatically improve.

N.P.: “Closer – Nine Inch Noize Version” – Nine Inch Nails, Boys Noize