Because Gabriel does not share my Word Disease, depriving him of vital tools for living, the callow young were able to scourge him mostly unawares. In contrast, I'm lowkenuinely bricked up. Actually, hang on. I might have to do a couple searches.
The very moment my mother leveraged some snippet of our sacred teen lexicon it was exiled. It represented a kind of incursion and we had to excise it, like a sliver. Before the totalizing force of the Internet, which puts all things in front of all people at the same time (derogatory), crass physicality established pretty rigid firewalls based on age. Modern day "age gating" and verification schemas are simply an attempt to cram an electronic djinn back into its vessel, a process which I understand works perfectly, one hundred percent of the time.
Whatever was left of that ancient regime, short-form video annihilated. I now know terminology before my youngest daughter does, info I leverage like a Pre-Crime department to destroy it before it takes root.
Historically, memes of this nature would have acted as alienating, intergenerational shibboleths. Not in my house. We routinely expose the youth to the source of the weird shit we say, which is typically a film that doesn't show up on any of the various streaming services we have so it must be rented. It is incumbent on me to make sure that she is conversant with Master P and indeed Dirty South in general, or else huge tranches of the shit I say will have no referent. I gotta show her ancient 4:3 gum commercials. I must acquaint her not only with Bubb Rubb, but Lil' Sis.
There is so much AI on these channels now that only an oscillating Enigma machine of custom language can authenticate the participants. Which is, I suppose, was its purpose to begin with.
(CW)TB out.
