There are some hard-up people who will berate your grammar if you is stupid. But even if you are stupid, I will be tepidly nice to you. If you, however, place your “who and whom”‘s in the right places, then I will make love to your grammar. Because I am a writer, language is obviously important to me. So if you want to convince me of your success in life, impress me with your verbiage and varied sentence structures. But as impressive as some people can be to talk to, others fall short in a very simple way. They use text speak.
If you use text-speak, especially outside of text messages, you’re stupid.
I must pay for every text individually, about ten cents. Most people have unlimited, but not me. And though I must spend more money, do not utilize horrid acronyms and “Cute” shortened words. These are an abomination to the English language. And I have 140 characters, so guess who does not splice his words? This guy. I prefer pithy, exactly worded texts that say exactly what I say in exactly that many words. And if I have characters left over, I had depth to the text. English professors will one day explicate my texts like they do monologues in Hamlet. And they will be flabbergasted, which in this context, means they will prematurely ejaculate inside their pants.
That’s right. “She finally said you’re in correct context and I…”
I just went there. But why, oh why, do some teens wonder, is it even important to speak that way? MY way, they claim, is shorter and conveys a lot more in a smaller space. I agree that this form of communication does convey a lot more, but that “a lot more” is terrible. It shows people you may be ignorant of how to spell simple things. When you leave out an l in “spel,” that doesn’t mean you’re hip or simply saving space in a tweet. It means you’re f***ing stupid. Seriously. It screams laziness.
And no, I do not care if you consider yourself smart. You’re not. Not if you can’t spend the time to spell correctly and learn the difference between “their” and “there.” So, when I hypothetically read these posts (none such exist, promise), maybe I freak out a little. Maybe I sob into my pillow. Maybe I throw a tantrum and beat a baseball bat with a tennis racket with a diamond-tip saw. Who knows what I’m saying anymore? It’s all Word Salad, right?
After this all ends, I cry myself into sleep. Then wake from a dream of me being chased by a crab. And then…