The One Where Emily Vents About Her Least Favorite Words.

Here once again is the new EADJ segment "Emily VENTS," where Emily Kane seethes about stuff she doesn't like.

They're not overused, they're not slang (old or new), they're not consistently used incorrectly and they're not pretentious in any way.  I just hate them.


Helping.

As a verb, all good. As a noun, however: “May I have another helping of tuna noodle casserole?”

No. A helping can never be a dignified piece of chicken or a serving of cous cous. It’s a depressing,  warming-tray offering from your local hospital cafeteria that is either clearly out of a can or altogether unidentifiable. It’s the oily casserole dish that your grandmother serves in her doily-covered dining room when she “means well.” Problem is, the kid that says this actually means it.

Forever alone.

Dumpster.

The sad, fat, stunted younger sister of the illustrious Spinster.  Can be found lurking in the comfort shoe section at Dress Barn.  Approach with caution.

God told me I deserve supportive footwear.

Napkin.

MOM: “Put your napkin in your lapkin!”

ME: halfway out the driveway already

You’re doing it wrong.

Ointment.

“Oink” + “cunt” + greasy, thick oil = I will punch your mouth in the face if you suggest I use anything other than cream on my ringworm. 

Here comes the lipstick…

Bulbous. (not a Pokemon character)

Brings to mind nut sacks, goiters, nose warts, cauliflower ear and the Elephant Man.  Mmmmm.

When your goiter is perkier than your tits.

Yolk.  

That soft, subtle, shitty “l.” It’s like you tried to say yuck while your banana and egg yolk milkshake was still clogging your throat.  Choke on that, folk.

Err on the side of caution.

Bulge.

I’m suddenly assisting the whole cast of The Outsiders in rolling their jeans.

This Rob Lowe has cable.

Cheese Cloth.

Left on the cutting room floor alongside “urine sack hammock” in the “transvaginal mesh” brainstorm.  Shredded. 

Your gauze is showing.

Slacks.

Your grandpa called.  He needs you to help him slide these on his pasty, hairy legs.  Don’t you forget to tuck in those yellowing, oversized boxers, now.  (Careful with that elastic.  It’s about to pop at any moment.)

“Pappy needs a foot massage, dear.”

The preceding piece was written and compiled entirely by Emily Kane. Comments and complaints can be sent to: ekane@eadj.tv or posted as comments to this entry.