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Digital Duncing: A Society Grunting

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 - By Saul McArthur

‘hey Wuu2?’

‘Stop eating almonds.’

‘wut lol’

‘The English Language suffers an unfortunate nut allergy. It gets aggressive when someone defecates down its throat as frequently as you do; metaphorically, of course.’

‘wtf rofl’

‘Stop breathing.’

Every time you text like a moron, a puppy dies. At least they will when I rise to power. I’m already in talks with the Dogstrust. It will count as one of the necessary evils implemented among many to reinforce the correct usage of our native tongue. Nothing riles more than receiving a text message plastered in abbreviated-numerical hokum. Some codes are too complex for even me to decrypt. I fear for my own safety whenever my phone vibrates. There’s only so much idiocy my Enigma Machine can handle. The new-age drivel produced from ‘text speak’ and its blatant two-fingered attitude towards grammar is enough to melt its massive mind into overdrive.

I’m concerned, if that wasn’t apparent already. What can I say? I’m a people-person. My duty is to protect this new generation of society from decaying into digitized dunces. I have noticed it happening for a while. For several years modern man has been chained to wireless shackles of cellular communication. Convenience has finger-tapped its way towards our undoing. The majority have become as sloppy as the pigs they buy in the supermarket. However, the only crackling here is in our crumbling minds, not on a shelf.

Enough with the foreplay, if this continues; language as we know it will be lost forever. ‘But wise one!’ I hear you yell, ‘Language evolves all the time, would you prefer us all still viciously tonguing one another in Latin?’ ‘Oh my child,’ I whisper, ‘would you prefer language to have no structure? To be so corrupt, evolving at such a rate that a week’s holiday would leave you completely out of the social loop? Not knowing who is sucking off whom? Or whatever we young people discuss?’ You smile and nod in understanding. I chortle, and then stub my cigar out on your eye.

Parts of that may have been exaggerated but the point still remains. This new type of language offers no formidable arrangement. It’s too ‘hip’ and/or ‘cool’ to care, but unfortunately it’s growing.  Not only that, it’s bleeding into our day-to-day reality. Soon the entire gamut of English will be redundant. The first time I heard someone say “ROFL” in conversation was a black day indeed. They weren’t using it ironically, they were monster-trucking serious. The stakes had been raised. I realised it was only a matter of time before this disease became an epidemic.

This on-going purge of abusers molesting great technology will ultimately lead to our downfall. Words will be forgotten and faded out of existence. Guffaw, chuckle, tee-hee, magnificent horse-play old chap: all express the appraisal of something humorous. Soon to be brushed aside and pulled asunder for the almighty ‘LOL’. Although I can appreciate the practicality of this word for its childlike simplicity, I wouldn’t want it as the primary appendage of my linguistic tool kit. Writing and indeed conversation would become incredibly stale and repetitive. Imagine a generation endlessly barking out sound-bite after sound-bite to the point of absurdity. Eventually it would wipe out every shred of creativity that remains. We wouldn’t have the language to capacitate it. I can’t have that happen. It’s my bread and butter.

If I was writing to my dear, old pen pal Ethel about the quality of lemons in Yorkshire, I would not scribe the following: ‘Just had lemon lol (Y) wuu2.’ A quadruple bypass would be imminent. Hoards of nurses would break down her door within moments, trying their best to resuscitate the dusty gem. I’m sure a lady of her calibre would prefer: ‘The second I sank my teeth into its sun-yellow surface I knew it was love. That soured ooze of citric acids fusing with my tonsils. Dancing their way through my throat; soon to be embraced by an anxious stomach. I fear no other lemon can compete. It was simply too enjoyable. Oh I do thoroughly adore our correspondence, sweet Ethel! Have you finished your will per chance?’ Without such raw passion, such emotion towards eating lemons, dear Ethel would never be able to share the joys I felt within that fruitacious scenario. Communicating in such vigour is all of life. It’s what makes us human. Without it, we are as robotic as the devices we use to deliver such announcements.

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