What-the-fuck-does-that-mean Friday deux!

If you’re currently sitting in the same room as I this very moment as I type this then let me cover a few things.
Firstly, I apologise for my rather dour mood. I have just experienced a spectacular failure from a creative standpoint which came off the back of a all round success yesterday but more importantly to me wasted quite a bit of precious spare time.

Secondly, if you certainly ARE in the room with me right now, kudos on the ninja skills. I can neither see, hear nor smell you. The latter isn’t a compliment to your abilities but rather a seguay into me complaining that I have blooming flowers in my house right now plus two cats. Both of which I am very and slightly allergic to in that order.
The cats are permanent.
I have neither tasted nor smelt a single thing in my house for longer than I remember.

Third, yes that’s gin in my coffee, it’s surprisingly good. But then again anything can improve the taste of decaf coffee and sugar free chocolate powder.

Fourth, I’m assuming gin makes decaf sugar free instant mochas tastier. Ref point ‘second’ to clarify any confusion.

Fifth, I wrote this blog post last night and scheduled it to post today (Friday) so there is no possible way you could be in the room with me right now reading this while I write it as both your own reading and my writing are taking place in two entirely separate points in time and geography.
I’m certain there’s some Einstein theory about cyclical time floating about somewhere in the past, present and future all at once that could make it possible but I’m too far into my decaf sugar free gin mocha to care. (how are your eyes after that?)

So let’s get the fuck on with this weeks instalment of WTFDTMF!

This weeks word is bought to you, once again, by Tom Holts ‘Falling sideways’.
You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve finished the book and am onto a dreadfully misinformed purchase of a book that features clichéd vampiric boyfriends with “chiselled” chests upon which 20-something year old girls can lay their weary heads.
It’s providing an equally clichéd lexicon thus far so expect me to break from my current reading to provide next weeks instalment. Or just go back to Holt because yay words!

Yes I hear you shouting, less dribbling more wording.

Banjax

Which is a verb smelling word (or so I’ve been told)

And no, it has nothing to do with banning groups of people named Jack from your premises or events.
Neither is it a delightfully fruity yet very alcoholic moonshine style beverage made from a mashed apple base and consumed from earthenware jugs. The ceremonial emptying-by-consumption of which heralds the beginning of a mighty hoedown featuring said jugs as an accompanying instrument in an all hick band with regular stars like that box you slap while you sit on, a washboard with some spoons, a string on a stick attached to a different box and the rustiest most tetanusey harmonicee this side of the Mississippi.

To ‘Banjax’ is to ruin, incapacitate or break something.
Usually in the 1950s.
These days we tend to use words like ruin, incapacitate or break.

Try using it next time your frustrated to add a bit of nostalgic flair to the old vocab.
For example, ‘If those fuckers at toolpro actually used proper screws to hold their shit together instead of cheap garbage that stripped at the hex head when you applied a micron of pressure then I might have been able to successfully modify my new knife. But no, they acted like a bunch of tightwad fart suckers which caused me to banjax the whole thing.’

See how sophisticated that was?

– Jacob

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