Word of the Day: doxy
noun
archaic
1. a lover or mistress
2. a prostitute
“He was pretty surprised when he thought her stage name was Doxy, but once he found out that that was her birth name, he knew her tornado-bait parents had doomed her to this life: she never had a chance.”

N.P.: “Holy Touch” – Foxy Shazam

One of the reasons I’m so excited about 2025 is that I can finally tell you about specific things going on as opposed to the boring vagaries we’ve been forced to deal in for the last decade.  I’ll be getting much more personal in the future.

A theme that will no doubt be annoyingly recurring will be that of Revenge.  My dear reader has no idea how significant Revenge is in my life.  In anybody else, it would be a problem.  Or at least an issue one should probably discuss with a mental health professional.  Fortunately for all concerned, I am not anybody else.  I work in revenge the way the Inuit work in scrimshaw.  Much more on this later.  For now, for today’s Word(s) of the Day, let us compare and contrast two words used for revenge, that are often used interchangeably, but actually have significantly different meanings and embody distinct concepts shaped by their underlying motivations and societal roles: Vengeance and Retribution.

Vengeance is deeply personal, rooted in emotion and often fueled by anger or a need for personal revenge.  It is characterized by a desire to make the perpetrator suffer as a form of personal satisfaction.  A classic example of vengeance is found in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” where the protagonist is consumed by the need to avenge his father’s murder, which consumption is quite familiar to me.  This quest for personal revenge drives Hamlet to take drastic and often irrational actions, highlighting the emotional turmoil and chaos vengeance can unleash.  Fuck yes!  Love it!

In contrast, retribution is more calculated and objective, often emerging from a sense of justice.  It seeks to restore balance by ensuring that punishment is proportionate to the offense.  This concept is foundational to legal systems around the world, where retribution is achieved through structured penalties designed to deter future wrongdoing and maintain social order.  An example of retribution is the character of Javert in “Les Miserable.”  Javert is fixated on upholding the law and delivering justice, relentlessly pursuing Jean Valjean to ensure he pays for his past crimes.  His unwavering commitment to retribution underscores the Disneyesque principle of justice over personal vendetta.

These concepts not only populate literature but also permeate societal frameworks, where they influence how justice is perceived and administered.  Vengeance often leads to cycles of retaliation, lacking the fairness and balance that retribution seeks to uphold, and most societies regard this as a bad thing.  Retribution, while striving for justice, almost always becomes rigid and unyielding, as seen in Javert’s strict adherence to the law, which ultimately blinds him to the nuances of human morality.

I understand both sides.  However, as usual, in practice, I find the entire dichotomy between vengeance and retribution unnecessary: there is no need to choose either/or.  I’ve found that usually both are needed for true justice to be done.  At least that’s how I do it.  This was never a conscious decision by me…I just noticed a couple of years ago that this is how I handle people fucking with me.  I go for retribution first, for two reasons: 1) retribution usually involves time limits (things like statutes of limitation, time between an incident occurring and your reporting of said incident, et cetera, whereas vengeance has no such constraints), and 2) it will look better later if your vengeance lands you in hot water.  Retribution in most cases typically means calling the police or involving whatever civic authorities are appropriate, then allowing them to respond and mete out justice as society sees fit.  Because the society in which I live is run by incompetent cowards, the results of this will always be pathetically weak and lacking.  In my experience, this has been the case 100% of the time.  At best, you can expect half-assed, pusillanimous, and insouciant gestures rather than any actual justice.   So then one must turn to good ol’ meat-eating, whiskey-drinking, I-will-wear-your-fucking-skin-and-dance-around-my-house vengeance.  Vengeance has no statute of limitations, no real limitations of any kind, really.  The only guidance I take regarding vengeance comes from Sun Tzu: Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.

N.P.: “The Devil You Know” – Blues Saraceno

In these stupid and ludicrous times when the dumbest amongst us are far too comfortable making up words to describe obscure and obscene sexual preferences, I’d like to mention a big one of mine, today’s Word of the Day: sapiosexual.

It is a word, intelligent reader, that quite simply dances on the tongue like a fine wine, matured in the oak barrels of intellectual allure.  In a world obsessed with appearances, a sapiosexual finds more tantalizing thrills in the cerebral gymnastics of minds at play.  Behold:

A sapiosexual is someone who finds intelligence the most sexually attractive feature in others.  The term is a blend of the Latin root “sapio,” meaning “to be wise” or “to taste,” and “sexual,” because, frankly, what’s more seductive than the occasional Latin flex?

Stanley chuckled into his drink.  “Listen, Lou…you’re preaching to the choir here.  I’ve been a hard-core sapiosexual my entire life…well, except for that few decades in the like the 80s and 90s when I was just really into tits.  But other than that, I’ve always been a big brains guy.

N.P.: “All I Want Is You – Bonus Track” – The Mission

Presage (verb): To predict or foretell a future event. Presage (noun): An omen, portent, or indication of a future event.

The term “presage” originates from the Latin word “praesagium,” combining “prae-” meaning “before” and “sagire” meaning “to perceive keenly.” It entered the English language in the late 14th century, retaining its meaning related to foretelling events.

Fuck, he thought for the seventh time in the last minute.  He had never been this blocked.  He’d had days, even the occasional week that he couldn’t write.  But never like this…never months.  It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say…quite the opposite, actually.  He had so much to say he didn’t know where even to begin.  For months now, significant events had unfolded far more rapidly that society could process them, and far too fast for him to keep up with, commentary-wise.  And thus, things had spun out of control months ago. 

The previous year, in  a series of meticulously crafted blog entries, he began to presage the downfall of the American Republic. His warnings were not borne out of paranoia but from a deep analysis of the incumbent president’s actions. The president’s clear contempt for democratic norms, relentless assaults on the free press, and almost comically divisive rhetoric had people concerned, especially in light of the alarming increase in public pants-shitting episodes. Each post was a call to arms, urging his fellow citizens to recognize the signs before it was too late.

One entry, titled “The Twilight of Democracy,” stood out. “We stand on the precipice of a new era,” he wrote. “An era where the very foundations of our Republic are under siege. The signs are clear—our freedom teeters on the edge as authoritarian shadows loom large.”

Despite his compelling arguments and data-backed insights, he faced a barrage of skepticism, vitriol, and bullshit. Many dismissed his predictions as alarmist or paranoid, while others accused him of partisan bias. Undeterred, he continued his crusade, hoping that his words would reach those who could still make a difference.

Months turned into years, and the political landscape grew increasingly volatile. Scandals erupted, institutions crumbled, and civil liberties were eroded. As the country’s stability waned, his presages seemed to transform from speculation into grim reality. Those who once jeered at his predictions now revisited his blog with a newfound respect.

In the end, his voice echoed through the annals of history as a presage unheeded.  His story serves as a poignant reminder: sometimes, the most critical warnings come not from official channels, but from the perceptive minds that dare to foresee the future.

N.P.: “Cast No Shadow” – Tales of Sound and Silence

In honor of Memorial Day, our Word of the Day is “remembrance.” Judging by the number of people I’ve heard who’ve very inappropriately wish me or anyone else, “Happy Memorial Day,” a reminder is necessary.  This word encapsulates the essence of this important holiday, which serves as a time to honor and remember those who have sacrificed their lives in military service.

Remembrance (noun): The action of remembering something or someone, often a person who has died; a memory or commemoration.

The word “remembrance” originates from the Middle English “remembraunce,” which in turn comes from the Old French “remembrance.” Its roots lie in the Latin verb “rememorari,” meaning “to remember,” composed of “re-” (again) and “memor” (mindful).

On this Memorial Day, let us all take a moment of remembrance for the brave souls who have served and sacrificed.  Their legacy lives on through our memories and our commitment to never forget.

Word of the Day: pestiferous

adjective

literary

1. harboring infection or disease.

2. humorous – constituting a pest or nuisance; annoying.

The janitor had clearly grown tired of the conversation and had begun thinking more about his lunch than the outcome of this colloquy: “No…what you’re going to do is take your pestiferous ass back to that rotting hovel and leave us alone to make babies and drink deeply of the green chartreuse.”  It was, it occurred to him at that moment, one of the stranger Wednesdays he’d had in a while.

N.P.: “Scarface (Push It To The Limit)” – Paul Engemann

Good afternoon, dear reader…

Yo rent is due.  And your Word of the Day is botryoidal.  Behold:

adjective

1. (chiefly of minerals) having a shape reminiscent of a cluster of grapes.

The urologist thought he’d seen it all until that fateful Thursday when he found himself unable to describe the shape of the set of odious and detestable testicles in his nitrile-gloved hands as botryoidal.  

“Never saw anything like this in med school,” muttered the doctor darkly to himself.

“You got all the way through med school without seeing a set of testicles?” said the patient, whose actual name the doctor knew, but who had become known in the doctor’s mind in the last 30 seconds as Grape Nuts.

“Shut up, Grape Nuts,” said the doctor, who, upon saying it, regretted having said it aloud, as that was not his intention.  

N.P.: “Why Do I?” – Thumpasaurus

A dotard is someone, usually of advanced age, who has begun to show a decline in mental faculties such as memory, attention, and decision-making, often leading to moments of confusion or forgetfulness. It’s a term that paints a picture of an adorable yet slightly befuddled grandparent, wandering into a room with purpose only to forget why they’re there.

The term “dotard” comes from the Middle English word “doten,” which means to dote. Doting originally had meanings related to being silly or feeble-minded due to age. Over time, it evolved into “dotard,” specifically referring to an elderly individual showing signs of senility. It’s a word that Shakespeare and Chaucer threw around like confetti at a wedding, adding a touch of historical class to what essentially amounts to calling someone a lovable old goofball.

Once upon a recent Thursday, in a quiet town just outside of Maryland, there lived a notorious dotard named Joseph. Joseph was known far and wide for his whimsical forgetfulness, which often led to amusing situations.
One sunny afternoon, Joseph set out from his house with a determined look on his face, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. His mission? To buy milk. The only problem was, by the time he reached the end of his driveway, he had forgotten why he’d left the house in the first place.
After standing there for a solid five minutes, scratching his head, he shrugged and decided he must have wanted to go for a walk. So, off Joseph went, wandering around the neighborhood in his bathrobe, waving cheerfully at confused neighbors, unaware that several Secret Service agents were following him.
Eventually, he found himself in front of the local supermarket. An idea struck him – a brilliant, undeniable urge. Joseph marched into the supermarket, went straight to the pet aisle, and bought the largest bag of birdseed they had.  Joe still failed to notice the Secret Service detail following his every motion.
Upon returning home, his wife asked him, bewildered, “Joseph, why on Earth did you buy a year’s supply of birdseed? We don’t even have a bird!”
Joseph, looking equally puzzled, glanced down at the birdseed, then back at his wife, and said, “Well, I’ll be. I knew I went out for something important. But don’t you worry, Jill. I’ve got it figured out. We’ll just have to get a bird now, won’t we?”

These sorts of goings-on were daily occurrences and basically fine until an aide made her daily reminder to Joseph that he was, in fact, the sitting President of the United States.

“I am?  Me?  Well…son of a bitch.”  An rather moronic but somehow menacing grin took over his face.  “So, I can do whatever I want?  I want my ice cream before dinner.  I want my ice cream now!  And Matlock!  Now!”  Joe just loved Matlock.
Joseph’s advisors conferred briefly, and called a press lid on the rest of Joseph’s month.  Joe was asleep before the opening credits of Matlock finished rolling, his ice cream cone resting stupidly on his chest, beginning to melt.

N.P.: “Love Bomb Baby” – Tigertailz

Kakistocracy (noun): A system of government that is run by the worst, least qualified, or most unscrupulous citizens.  It’s a real word for when the village idiots become the town council.

Origin: The word is a delightful blend of Greek components:
Kakistos (κάκιστος): Meaning “worst”—because why settle for mediocrity when you can aim for the abyss?
Kratos (κράτος): Meaning “rule”—because even chaos needs a manager, apparently.

The President of the United States gazed vacantly at the tens of people who had gathered to hear his speech.  Once again, he had forgotten not only what he was saying, but where he was.  Where he was was widely known for certain: he was presently in the House of Representatives delivering the State of the Union Address. 

This sort of thing had been happening a lot lately, but really, things had never been good, mental-acuity-wise for this president.  His inauguration was the most memorable for many reasons: the first inauguration to be sponsored by the Chinese Communist Party, the first inauguration to have a president to take the oath pantsless (but he was wearing mismatched socks and a blissfully ignorant grin).  It was a horrible day.  When the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court appeared on the dais, he was dressed as female clown and, as one writer put it, “engaged in cheap Socratic banter and low-rent sleight-of-hand with the handful of people who had shown up to witness this farce.”  The majority leader of the Senate came out and tried (and completely failed) to juggle several rubber chickens.  The traditional oath of office was replaced on this occasion by a rather bawdy nursery rhyme, and the president’s acceptance speech seemed to center around a promise replace all traffic lights in the US with interpretive dance troupes. 

“It’s better for the environment!  Climate change is the biggest threat our country faces.”  White supremacy was number two, followed closely by transphobia. 

The crowd of nearly 10 people erupted in panicked gasps.  A secret service agent was so taken aback that he accidently knocked over the podium.  The president tripped on the Chief Justice’s clown shoes and fell into a truly massive cake shaped like the national debt. 

Manolo, a janitor at the event who, unbeknownst to anyone, had the highest actual IQ of anyone in DC, ran onto the stage and grabbed the microphone.  “You know what climate change, white supremacy, and transphobia have in common?”

Confused silence from the crowd.

“They’re not threats to our country.  In fact, they don’t really exist at all.” 

And with that, the crowd as well as the entire kakistocracy they had voted for simply disappeared in a fetid puff of idiocy and lies.

N.P.: “The Man” – The Killers