Oh my God, I'm sick of the OMG phenomenon (definitely NSFW)

This is going to sound like a petulant whine, and it probably is, so I'll make sure it puts on its nicest Pantagruelistic dress and does its hair especially for you - just so you know I'm at least 'passionate' about the subject.

I love my language (English, obviously) - it's the best tongue in the world by a long chalk, probably because we stole all the most delicious words from every culture we ground into the dust under our Imperial bootheels. I even delight in all the terms being coined by successive generations - every patois, argot, jargon and cant springing from the foreheads of our yoof culture and burgeoning immigrant workforce. I am not a linguistic purist, like so many of my peers - the English language is a beautiful, organic fluid entity that rightly shapeshifts around our expectations and limitations; a good thing too, or it would end up dead like Latin and Classical Greek. Or boring, like French.

I cannot, however, take any more of the inappropriate overuse of those three little words. No, not 'it wasn't me' or 'I'll pull out'. I'm talking about OH. MY. GOD. Usually from those denizens of our wayward colony. Usually spoken with punctuation stressed, just like above. They've infected us with it. They've even reduced it in the crucible of banality to a sad acronymic quintessence.

-OMG, look at her shoes!

-OMG, I love that!

-OMG, you're a douchebag. (I've never really understood why this is an insult, unless it is highlighting the fact that the bag section of douching equipment gets the least fun job of the whole process)

Imagine being God. All day long you hear the prayers, hopes and fears of your children below. At least you would if it wasn't for countless twats lazily shouting your name in capital letters, or vocalizing it in staccato AQI, every single second of the bloody day. I'd be shrugging off my benevolent creator outfit and donning my smiting garments like a fucking shot. There's a time and a place for the utterance of those three little words. Here, let me give you a couple of examples.

You come home to a darkened house. Flicking on the living room lights, you take in the dreadful tableau of a gang of piratical midgets with diphallic terata queuing up to take turns double-fucking the empty eyesockets of your murdered parents - as your male family members stand around the edges of the room posh-wanking wildly into sheaths made from half-empty jars of baby food mixed with broken glass. Meanwhile, and centre-stage, your paternal and maternal grandmothers make and use strings of anal beads from mum and dad's eyes and optic nerves while singing 'don't it make your blue eyes brown' to each other in a comic falsetto.

OR

You awake from a routine operation to discover that the surgeons have not only replaced all of your limbs with live chimpanzee heads, but said medicos are also merrily eating liquid shit fondue from your exposed colon with used tampons on the end of decaying heron's leg fondue forks.

THAT'S what they should be saving all their Oh my God's for; but they've used them all up in forum threads, inane chatter and comment posts at the end of celebrity news pages - the simple fucks.

I need a lie down now.

 

[Naming and shaming my pimp: Humor-blogs.com]