Gettin busted bustin in a busted bitch’s (or bastard’s, i suppose, being equal-opportunity and all) face. What a bust.

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I just wanted to give kudos to our friend, “Bust.” Hugely versatile and wonderfully short and sweet, it’s  been used to express a variety of emotions and thoughts over  a wide spectrum of contexts.  It is so multifaceted that I don’t even know where to begin.

I will skip the obvious meanings like “busted up the party,” “busted that bitchass motherfucker’s nose,” “I got busted doing a line off my brother’s wang.”etc.” Instead, I will focus on three less traditional, but no less useful, uh, uses.
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blustery paragraphs smash your phonograph in half

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Everyone knows some fool who is all huff and puff but with no real bite or even substance. It’s either some dude you hang out with because you’ve known him/her for years, your friend’s annoying significant other, your significant other’s annoying friend, or some other miscellaneous figure on the periphery of your life’s landscape. These types muster up the energy to bluster like a tornado, but all you want is to put on your headphones until they walk away.

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Pete Was Not As Lugubrious As I First Thought

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A few years ago, I worked as a freelance copy editor for a sports publisher. The fellow in the neighboring cubicle was a rotund fellow named Pete. Pete was a nice guy, to be sure, and he always had some great soundbites. One of my favorites is, “You’re going to Seattle? Pffft…. Should be called Rainattle.” Yes, Pete had a sparkling wit. That, however, is not the point. Pete was enormous–he weighed almost 500 lbs prior to his gastric bypass. I left the company shortly after his surgery and he still weighed an enormous amount. I’ll say it; he’ll admit it: He was huge. A mammoth mountain of a man. I was surprised that paperclips and staples didn’t get sucked into his gravitational pull and start orbiting around him.

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I’m Totally Gruntled Today

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Actually, that isn’t totally true. Today kind of sucks. It’s hot as hell outside; it’s even hotter in my apartment. Plus, I took a look at my bank statement and realized that I need to get a job as a nude model or something. However, let’s pretend I wrote this yesterday afternoon, when I was completely gruntled.

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Well, Here Comes Ol’ Johnny Foreigner

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You have to love the British. Well, that’s not true. They are particularly easy to dislike–especially for a product of colonial rule such as myself. However, even I will admit that they have a knack for coming up with the best expressions. Take Johnny Foreigner, for example. It is so wonderfully derisive and xenophobic. Not that xenophobia is necessarily wonderful (although derision certainly is), mind you. Continue reading →