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BURGESS UNABRIDGED
[Illustration: WOWZE]
BURGESS UNABRIDGED
A New Dictionary
of Words you have always Needed
BY GELETT BURGESS
_Author of “Goops,” “Are You a Bromide?”
“The Maxims of Methuselah,” “The
Maxims of Noah,” &c._
With Cover Designs and Illustrations by
HERB ROTH
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1914, by_
GELETT BURGESS
[Illustration: _September, 1914_]
ILLUSTRATIONS
WOWZE
A conscientious tangoist inflated with her vanity
Attempting to excel a silly partner in inanity _Frontispiece_
PAGE
BRIPKIN
A person whose apparel by its conscious imitation lies
Respecting the society in which his limitation lies 9
DIABOB
A complicated artifact devised in proof of amity
Producing to æstheticism visual calamity 15
HUZZLECOO
A conversation intimate, intensific but amical
Surcharged with personalities outrageously dynamical 37
JIRRIWIG
An unaffected traveler engrossed in Touristology,
A middle-western species of the Baedeker biology 47
KIPE
Evaluating notice with impertinent serenity,
The envious propensity of feminine amenity 53
QUOOB
An undress-suited being in an access of humility
Apologizing vainly for apparent incivility 77
SPLOOCH
The acme of ineptitude whose quality unfortunate
Assails our sensibilities with agony importunate 89
TASHIVATE
Indulgent inattention to a chatter of banality
Emotionally answered with a feeling of tonality 93
WOG
A thinglet unpremeditated marring one’s consistency
Or dignity or pulchritude with devillish persistency 109
INTRODUCTION
Yes, I have written a dictionary. Worcester and Webster are all right in
their way, and Stormuth will do very well for Englishmen--but they’re
not up to date. Mrs. Century’s book is a bit better and even old Dr.
Standard’s Compendium of Useful Information includes my own words,
“bromide” and “sulphite.” It’s good enough for last year, but “Burgess
Unabridged” will give the diction of the year 1915.
For, the fact is, English is a growing language, and we have to let out
the tucks so often, that no last season’s model will ever fit it.
English isn’t like French, which is corseted and gloved and clad and
shod and hatted strictly according to the rules of the Immortals. We
have no Academy, thank Heaven, to tell what is real English and what
isn’t. Our Grand Jury is that ubiquitous person, Usage, and we keep him
pretty busy at his job. He’s a Progressive and what he likes, he’ll
have, in spite of lexicographers, college professors and authors of “His
Complete Works.” That’s the reason why English has ousted Volapük and
Esperanto as a world language. It snuggles right down where you live and
makes itself at home.
How does English shape itself so comfortably to the body of our thought?
With a new wrinkle here and a little more breadth there, with fancy
trimmings, new styles, fresh materials and a genius for adapting itself
to all sorts of wear. Everybody is working at it, tailoring it, fitting
it, decorating it. There is no person so humble but that he can suggest
an improvement that may easily become the reigning mode.
Slang, I once defined as “The illegitimate sister of Poetry”--but slang
is sometimes better than that; it often succeeds in marrying the King’s
English, and at that ceremony there are dozens of guests. There’s the
poker player, who contributes for his wedding present, “The limit” and
“Make good” and “Four flush.” Politics hands over “Boodle,” “Mugwump”
and “Gerrymander.” The thief presents his “Jimmy,” “Doss,” “Kip,”
“Heeler,” “Split,” “Lag,” “Swag” and “Dope.” The horse race gives us
“Neck and neck”; baseball, “Putting one over.” Even the baby offers
“Goo-goo.” Illustrations, however, are boring.
But slang, strictly, consists in the adaptation of phrases; it does not
often--not often enough at any rate--coin new words. Thieves’ patter or
jargon or cant provides us almost with a language of itself, and words
from the Underworld are continually being added to the language. Like
the turkey trot, “We first endure, then pity, then embrace.” So from all
sources the language recruits new phrases, new expressions, even new
rules of grammar. Horrible as they are to the conservative, common usage
accepts them and they become classic. Professor Lounsbury of Yale is
kept busy justifying them. He, alone of all grammarians, sees that the
split infinitive must come, that verbs must be constructed of nouns. He
recognizes the new function of the potential mood, in “I should worry”
and “Wouldn’t that jar you?”
Yes, it’s easy enough to coin a phrase, to adapt an old word to a new
use, like “Chestnut” and “Lemon” and “Peach.” It’s easy to abbreviate
words, like “Gent” and “Pants” and “Exam” and “Phone” and “Stylo.” It’s
easier still to fill the new dictionary with new derivatives from Latin
or Greek or crowd in French. The scientific word requires a little
invention. “Radioactive” and “Aileron” and “Hypofenyl-tribrompropionic”
need only a scholastic delving in ancient tongues. But to invent a new
word right out of the air or the cigarette smoke is another thing. And
that’s what I determined to do.
Yes, I know it has been tried, but it’s never been seriously and
deliberately gone about. It has been haphazard work, the result of a
mere accident, or vaudeville high spirits. But the way such neologisms
have become quickly current shows that here’s a field for high endeavor,
and a little success with “Blurb” and “Goop” encourage me to proceed in
the good work. We need so many new words, and we need ’em quick. The
question is: How to get ’em?
Of course, we might ransack the back numbers of the language and dig up
archaic words. Many such have been dropped from the original
Anglo-Saxon. There is “Dindle,” to shake, and “Foin” to thrust, and
“Gree” and “Lusk” and “Sweven.” But the need for most of them has long
gone by. We do not “Feutre” our spears, because we have no spears to
feutre. We carry no “Glaive,” we wear no “Coif.”
So with the bright gems of Elizabethan diction. A “Bonnibel” is now a
nectarine. To “Brabble” is now to “Chew the rag.” What is a
“Scroyle”?--a “Cad,” a “Bad Actor”? A “Gargrism” has become “A Scream.”
So the old names become mere poetic decorations. Why, the word “Fro” we
dare use only in a single collocation! And as for “Welkin,” “Lush,” and
“Bosky”--who dares to lead their metric feet into the prim paths of
prose? Let bygones be bygones. Look elsewhere.
Samoa has an ideal language, and there it was I got my inspiration.
Can’t we make English as subtle as Samoan? I wondered. There they
have a single word, meaning,
“A-party-is-approaching-which-contains-neither
-a-clever-man-nor-a-pretty-woman.”
Another beautiful word describes
“A-man-who-climbs-out-on-the-limbs-of-his-own-breadfruit-tree-to
-steal-the-breadfruit-of-his-neighbor.”
“_Suiia_” means “Change-the-subject-you-are-on-dangerous-ground.”
Another happy word expresses a familiar
situation--“To-look-on-owl-eyed-while-others-are-getting-gifts.” Have we
anything in English as charmingly tactful as this? No, our tongue is
almost as crude as pidjin-English itself, where piano is
“Box-you-fight-him-cry.”
But the time has come for a more scientific attempt to enlarge the
language. The needs of the hour are multifarious and all unfilled. There
are a thousand sensations that we can describe only by laborious phrases
or metaphors, a thousand characters and circumstances, familiar to all,
which shriek for description.
It has, of course, been tried before. Think what a success the scheme
was when it was so long ago attempted. The first Nonsense Book
containing really new words was published in 1846 by Edward Lear, but he
failed to appreciate his opportunity. Of all his names, the “Jumblies”
alone survive. Lewis Carroll later went about it more deliberately. His
immortal poem, “Jabberwocky,” has become a classic; but even in that
masterpiece, how many words are adapted to modern use? “Slithy” perhaps
and “Chortle”--though no one has ever been able to pronounce it properly
to this day. Oh yes, “Galumph,” I forgot that. Not even “The Hunting of
the Snark” has made the title rôle popular amongst bromides. Why? His
fatal rule was, “Take care of the sounds and the sense will take care of
itself.”
A dozen years ago a little girl tried it with fair success. In her
“Animal Land, where there are no People,” however, I can find no word I
have ever heard used outside its covers, no word like “Hoodlum,” or
“Flunk” or “Primp,” “Quiz,” “Cabal” or “Fad” or “Fake.”
The thing must be done, and so I did it. Slang is sporadic; its
invention is crude and loose. It is a hit-or-miss method, without
direction or philosophy. Our task is serious; we must make one word
blossom where a dozen grew before. A myriad necessities urge us. I found
myself often confronted with an idea which baffled me and forced me to
talk gibberish. How, for instance, can one describe the appearance of an
elderly female in plush dancing a too conscientious tango? How do _you_,
gentle reader, portray your emotion when, on a stormy night, as you
stand on the corner the trolley-car whizzes by and fails to stop for
you? Where is the word that paints the mild, faint enjoyment of a family
dinner with your wife’s relations?
You see how inarticulate you are, now, don’t you, when a social
emergency arises?--when you want to give swift tongue to your emotions?
What can you say when you’re jilted?--how mention the feeling
of a broken finger-nail on satin--your esthetic delight in
green-trading-stamp furniture? How do you feel with a person whose name
you cannot quite remember? Why, we need at least a gross of assorted
nouns this very day! What is the name of a business enterprise that was
born dead? What do you call the woman who telephones to you during
business hours? What is a woman who wears dirty white gloves? What is a
man who gives you advice “for your own good”? Well, behold a guide to
help you;--read “Burgess Unabridged.” It is the dictionary of the
Futurist language!
Yes, my modest “Unabridged” will “fill a long felt want.” It will
solidify the chinks of conversation, express the inexpressible, make our
English language ornamental, elegant, distinguished, accurate. Other
dictionaries have recorded the words of yesterday, my lexicon will give
the words of to-morrow. What matter if none of them is “derived from two
Greek words”? My words will be imaginotions, penandinkumpoops,
whimpusles, mere boojums rather than classic snarks, for I shall not
construct “Portmanteau” words, like Lewis Carroll. I shall create them
from instinctive, inarticulate emotions, hot from the depths of
necessity. No “Onomatopœia,” either, for I do not hold with those who
say that the origin of language is in the mere mimicry of natural
sounds. No, like the intense poetic pre-Raphaelite female, who says and
feels that her soul is violet, when I see a hand-embroidered necktie, I
dive deep in my inner consciousness and bring up, writhing in my hand,
the glad word, “Gorgule,” or “Golobrifaction” or “Diabob.”
For, as my friend, the Reverend Edward P. Foster, A.M., of Marietta,
Ohio, has pointed out, in his great work on Ro, the _a priori_ method is
the only rational principle upon which to coin new words. Volapük,
Esperanto, Idiom Neutral, Interlingua and Ido all have fallen by the
wayside of this “philosophical” route. It is as futile to try to make
the sound suggest the sense. For, investigation will show that so many
senses are suggested that the word lacks definition. Not only does
“stave” seem to imply a barrel, but music. And, if you take the sound
alone, we have such different meanings as wright, right, write and rite,
not to speak of exactly opposite interpretations in such word as
“cleave.”
What Ro, therefore, attempts so ambitiously, I do in a more humble
spirit, contenting myself with the manufacture of words to explain some
of the more subtle relationships and exigencies of civilized life. I
confess the work is, to a great extent, subjective and personal. I have
but ministered to my own direst needs.
So contriving, choosing my words from some vague sense of color, mood,
an instinctive feeling of appropriateness, I trust that I have not made
my method monotonous. I must confess, however, that in my
experimentation, certain sounds appealed more strongly than others to my
comic spirit. The frequent use of the “oo” will perhaps require an
apology, and the almost equally merry “aw.” The other “long” vowels,
such as “ee” and “ay” and “o” seemed inadequate to my use. Of
consonants, my “G” is, no doubt, most frequent. “G” supplies spuzz to a
word that can hardly be obtained elsewhere in the alphabet. “K” also has
a bite, but it is frequently too suggestive for our delicate
susceptibilities. “L”--what could one do in such a work, without the
gentle liquid that euphonizes the most savage of consonants! Also I
confess having fallen in love with the anapest.
And yet, many of these words will not, at first sound, seem appropriate.
Let me remind you of Mr. Oliver Herford’s not too original discovery
(most children make it earlier), than any word, when often repeated,
becomes strange and barbaric, even as his favorite “looking-glass” after
being pronounced several times, grows marvellously beautiful and
romantic.
So, as a corollary to this principle, you will, I hope, find that even
my fierce and uncouth syllables may, when iterated, grow less unusual,
strangely familiar, even; and, little by little, as their sharp corners
and edges are worn smooth by use, they will fit into your conversation
and nestle into place, making your talk firmer, more expressive and
wonderfully adequate to your daily needs.
_When vorianders seek to huzzlecoo,
When jurpid splooch or vilpous drillig bores,
When cowcats kipe, or moobles wog, or you
Machizzled are by yowfs or xenogores,_
_Remember Burgess Unabridged, and think,
How quisty is his culpid yod and yab!
No fidgeltick, with goigsome iobink,
No varmic orobaldity--his gab!_
_No more tintiddling slubs, like fidgelticks,
Rizgidgeting your speech, shall lallify;
But your jujasm, like vorgid gollohix,
Shall all your woxy meem golobrify!_
GELETT BURGESS.
_New York, June 1st, 1914._
BURGESS ABRIDGED:
100 CHOICE SELECTIONS
1. =Agowilt.= Sickening terror, unnecessary fear, sudden shock.
2. =Alibosh.= A glaringly obvious falsehood or exaggeration.
3. =Bimp.= A disappointment, a futile rage, a jilt.
4. =Bleesh.= An unpleasant picture; vulgar or obscene.
5. =Blurb.= Praise from one’s self, inspired laudation.
6. =Bripkin.= One who half does things; second-hand, imitation.
7. =Cowcat.= An unimportant guest, an insignificant personality.
8. =Critch.= To array one’s self in uncomfortable splendor.
9. =Culp.= A fond delusion, an imaginary attribute.
10. =Diabob.= An object of amateur art, adorned without taste.
11. =Digmix.= An unpleasant, uncomfortable or dirty occupation.
12. =Drillig.= A tiresome lingerer, one who talks too long.
13. =Edicle.= One who is educated beyond his intellect, a pedant.
14. =Eegot.= A selfishly interested friend, a lover of success.
15. =Elp.= A tricky, sly or elusive person, a promiser.
16. =Fidgeltick.= Food that it is a bore to eat; a taciturn person.
17. =Flooijab.= An apparent compliment with a concealed sting.
18. =Frime.= An educated heart, one who does the right thing.
19. =Fud.= A state of disorder or déshabille, a mess.
20. =Frowk.= A spicy topic, a half-wrong act, a sly suggestion.
21. =Geefoojet.= An unnecessary thing, an article seldom used.
22. =Gixlet.= One who has more heart than brains, an entertainer.
23. =Gloogo.= Foolishly faithful without reward; loyal, fond.
24. =Goig.= One whom one distrusts intuitively, suspicious.
25. =Gollohix.= An untimely noise, a disturbance, especially at night.
26. =Golobrify.= To adorn with unmeaning and extravagant ornament.
27. =Gorgule.= A splendiferous, over-ornate object or gift.
28. =Gorm.= A human hog; to take more than one’s share.
29. =Gowyop.= A perplexity wherein familiar things seem strange.
30. =Gubble.= Society talk, the hum of foolish conversation.
31. =Huzzlecoo.= An intimate talk, a confidential colloquy.
32. =Hygog.= An unsatisfied desire, something out of one’s reach.
33. =Hyprijimp.= A man who does woman’s work; one alone amid women.
34. =Igmoil.= A sordid quarrel over money matters.
35. =Impkin.= A superhuman pet, a baby in beast form.
36. =Iobink.= An unplaceable resemblance, an inaccessible memory.
37. =Jip.= A faux pas, a dangerous subject of conversation.
38. =Jirriwig.= A traveller who does not see the country.
39. =Jujasm.= An expansion of sudden joy after suspense.
40. =Jullix.= A mental affinity, one with similar tastes or memory.
41. =Jurp.= An impudent servant or underling, a saucy clerk.
42. =Kidloid.= A precocious or self-assertive child. _Enfant terrible_.
43. =Kipe.= To inspect appraisingly, as women do one another.
44. =Kripsle.= An annoying physical sensation or defect.
45. =Lallify.= To prolong a story tiresomely, or repeat a joke.
46. =Leolump.= An interrupter of conversations, an egoistic bore.
47. =Looblum.= Palatable but indigestible food; flattery.
48. =Machizzle.= To attempt unsuccessfully to please, to try to like.
49. =Meem.= An artificial half-light that women love; gloom.
50. =Mooble.= A mildly amusing affair, a semi-interesting person.
51. =Moosoo.= Sulky, out of sorts or out of order; delayed.
52. =Nink.= An “antique” resurrected for decorative effect.
53. =Nodge.= The only one of its kind, or having no mate.
54. =Nulkin.= The secret explanation, the inside history.
55. =Oofle.= A person whose name one cannot remember; to forget.
56. =Orobaldity.= Modern mysticism, a short cut to success.
57. =Ovotch.= A thing in style, the current fad.
58. =Paloodle.= To give unnecessary advice; one who thus bores.
59. =Pawdle.= One vicariously famous, or with undeserved prominence.
60. =Persotude.= Social warmth or magnetism, amount of popular favor.
61. =Pooje.= To embarrass; a regrettable discovery.
62. =Quink.= An expression or mood of anxious expectancy.
63. =Quisty.= Useful and reliable without being ornamental.
64. =Quoob.= A person or thing obviously out of place, a misfit.
65. =Rawp.= A reliably unreliable person, one always late.
66. =Rizgidget.= An inability to make up one’s mind, an indecision.
67. =Rowtch.= To eat in extraordinary fashion, to gormandize.
68. =Skinje.= To feel shudderingly, to shrink from instinctively.
69. =Skyscrimble.= To go off at a tangent, mentally; to escape logic.
70. =Slub.= A mild indisposition which does not incapacitate.
71. =Snosh.= Vain talk; a project that is born dead.
72. =Spigg.= A decoration of overt vanity; to attract
notice, paint.
73. =Spillix.= Accidental good luck, uncharacteristically skilful.
74. =Splooch.= One who doesn’t know his own business; a failure.
75. =Spuzz.= Mental force, aggressive intellectuality, stamina.
76. =Squinch.= To watch and wait anxiously, hoping for a lucky turn.
77. =Tashivation.= The art of answering without listening to questions.
78. =Thusk.= Something that has quickly passed from one’s life.
79. =Tintiddle.= An imaginary conversation; wit coming too late.
80. =Udney.= A beloved bore; one who loves but does not understand.
81. =Uglet.= An unpleasant duty too long postponed.
82. =Unk.= An unwelcome, inappropriate or duplicate present.
83. =Varm.= The quintessence of sex; sex hatred or antipathy.
84. =Vilp.= An unsportsmanlike player, a bad loser, a braggart.
85. =Voip.= Food that gives no pleasure to the palate.
86. =Vorge.= Voluntary suffering, unnecessary effort or exercise.
87. =Voriander.= A woman who pursues men or demands attentions.
88. =Whinkle.= Hypocritical graciousness; to glow with vanity.
89. =Wijjicle.= A perverse household article, always out of order.
90. =Wog.= Food on the face; unconscious adornment of the person.
91. =Wowze.= A female fool, an unconsciously ridiculous woman.
92. =Wox.= A state of placid, satisfied contentment.
93. =Wumgush.= Women’s insincere flattery of each other.
94. =Xenogore.= An interloper who keeps one from interesting things.
95. =Yab.= A monomaniac or fanatic, enthusiasm over one thing.
96. =Yamnoy.= A bulky, unmanageable object to be carried.
97. =Yod.= A ban or restriction on pleasant things.
98. =Yowf.= One whose importance exceeds his merit; a rich fool.
99. =Zeech.= A monologuist; one who is lively, but exhausting.
100. =Zobzib.= An amiable blunderer, one displaying misguided zeal.
BURGESS UNABRIDGED
[Illustration]
A NEW DICTIONARY
=Ag´o-wilt=, _n._ 1. Sickening terror, sudden, unnecessary fear. 2.
The passage of the heart past the epiglottis, going up. 3.
Emotional insanity.
=Ag´o-wilt=, _v._ To almost-faint.
“What’s that smell? Is it smoke?--Is it?” You throw open the door and
have an agowilt; the staircase is in flames. But this is the fierce and
wild variety. Agowilts tamed for domestic use, are far more common. The
minute after you throw the burnt match into the waste-paper basket, the
agowilt comes.
It may be but a single extra step which isn’t there and the agowilt
playfully paralyzes your heart. So a sudden jerk of the elevator, the
startling stopping of the train, the automobile skidding, the
roller-coaster looping the loop--bring agowilts.
Vicariously you suffer as well, when the trapeze performers swing in
dizzying circles or do the “death dive.”
“Good heavens! I left my bag in the train!”--an agowilt quite as
painful. (See _Nulkin_.)
Why does your friend, reckless Robert, pause on the edge of the cliff?
Merely to delight you with an agowilt.
When I taught Fanny, the flirt, to swim, and she found herself in water
over her head, why did she scream and throw her arms about my neck? Was
it truly an agowilt? (See _Varm_.)
_’Twas not when Johnnie got the gun
And pointed it at Jean;
Nor when he played, in childish fun
With father’s razor keen--_
_She did not agowilt until
Her little brother said:
“I just saw sister kissing Bill!”
She agowilted dead._
=Al´i-bosh=, _n._ A glaringly obvious falsehood; something not meant
to be actually believed; a picturesque overstatement.
A circus poster is an alibosh; so is a seed catalogue, a woman’s age and
an actress’s salary. (See _Blurb_.)
There are verbal aliboshes too numerous to mention: “I have had such a
charming time!” and “No, I don’t think you’re a bit too fat, you are
just nice and plump.” (See _Gubble and Wumgush_.)
The saleswoman makes her living on the alibosh: “Yes, I think that hat
is very becoming.” She doesn’t believe it, you don’t believe it--it’s
only a part of the game--like the lies of horse-trading, the inspired
notices of theatrical failures or a prospectus of a gold mine.
_The dentist, when he filled my tooth,
Filled me with alibosh;
He said it wouldn’t hurt, forsooth!
I knew he lied, b’gosh!_
_But when he had one filled himself
They took an ounce or two
Of chloroform from off the shelf.
No alibosh would do!_
=Bimp=, _n._ A disappointment, a futile rage.
=Bimp=, _v._ To cut, neglect, or forsake.
=Bimped=, _p.p._ Jilted, left.
As Mrs. Ezra P. McCormick stood in the middle of Myrtle Avenue at the
corner of Grandview Street the trolley car came hurtling past, ten
minutes behind time. Wildly she waved her parasol, but the car would
not, did not stop! Mrs. McCormick got bimped. Her bimp was the more
horrible, because the conductor turned and grinned at her, and three men
on the rear platform laughed, for Mrs. McCormick was very fat. (See
_Jurp_.)
Did you get that raise in your salary on New Year’s day, or did you get
bimped? Were you forgotten on Christmas? Did you draw to a flush and
fail to fill? You got bimped. Did you find you had no cash in your
pocket when it came time to pay the waiter? Did that firm cancel its
order? Bimps.
What did Mrs. Harris’s servant girl do on the very afternoon of the
dinner party? She bimped Mrs. Harris! She packed her imitation-leather
suitcase, grabbed her green umbrella and walked away.
The girl who stood “Waiting at the church” got the biggest bimp of all.
(See _Agowilt_.)
Bimp not, that ye be not bimped! (See _Machizzle_.)
_I got a bimp, the other night,
It bimped me good and hard;
I drew to fill a flush, and got
A different colored card._
_But still, I bluffed it out and won;
A well-filed pot I crimped--
And three good hands of treys and pairs,
And one full house, got bimped!_
=Bleesh=, _n._ 1. An unpleasant picture; vulgar or obscene art. 2. An
offensive comic-supplement form of humor.
=Bleesh=, _a._ Revolting, disgusting, coarse.
Comic valentines are very bleesh; the newspaper “comic strip” with the
impossible adventure ending in catastrophic brutality; stars,
exclamation points and “Wows!” Especially a bull-dog, biting the seat of
a man’s trousers and revolving like a pinwheel--this is a bleesh. (See
_Frowk_.)
Crayon enlargements of photographs of your uncle in his Odd Fellows’
uniform are bleesh--Kodak snap-shots and flashlights of banquet groups.
Your practical-joking friend sends you bleesh foreign postcards from
abroad; and your chauffeur revels in bleesh pictures of crime, with an X
showing “where the body was found.”
To the Philistine of the Middle West, the nude in art is bleesh. To the
eye-glassed school-ma’am of Brooklyn, the paintings of Cubists and
Futurists are bleesher still. (See _Ovotch_.)
_I gazed upon a bleesh, and saw ’Twas stupid, crude and coarse; Its
wit was dull, its art was raw, It had nor wit nor force._
_And then my niece, a virgin pure, But used to clever folk, Laughed
at that bleesh till I was sure I’d somehow missed the joke._
=Blurb=, _n._ 1. A flamboyant advertisement; an inspired testimonial.
2. Fulsome praise; a sound like a publisher.
=Blurb=, _v._ 1. To flatter from interested motives; to compliment
oneself.
On the “jacket” of the “latest” fiction, we find the blurb; abounding in
agile adjectives and adverbs, attesting that this book is the “sensation
of the year;” the blurb tells of “thrills” and “heart-throbs,” of “vital
importance” and “soul satisfying revelation.” The blurb speaks of the
novel’s “grip” and “excitement.” (See _Alibosh_.)
The circus advertiser started the blurb, but the book publisher
discovered a more poignant charm than alliterative polysyllables. “It
holds you from the first page--”
Now, you take this “Burgess Unabridged”--it’s got a jump and a go to
it--it’s got a hang and a dash and a swing to it that pulls you right
out of the chair, dazzles your eyes, and sets your hair to curling. It’s
an epoch-making, heart-tickling, gorglorious tome of joy!
So, were not my publishers old-fashioned, would this my book be blurbed.
_If “Burgess Unabridged,” I say,
“Fulfils a long-felt want,”
Don’t mind my praise, nor yet the way
In which I voice my vaunt._
_Don’t let my adjectives astute
Your peace of mind disturb;
It’s “bold,” it’s “clever” and it’s “cute,”
And so is this my blurb!_
=Brip´kin=, _n._ 1. One who half does things; not a thoroughbred. 2.
A suburbanite, commuter.
=Brip´kin=, _a._ Off color; second-rate; shabby-genteel, a little out
of style.
The bripkin invites a girl to the theatre, but he takes her in a
street-car--on a rainy night, too! The bripkin tips the waiter less than
ten per cent. of his bill. He carries a cane, but does not wear gloves.
He frequents the manicure, and wears near-silk shirts, with frayed
cuffs. His hat is “the latest” but his coat sleeves are shiny.
The female bripkin has a button off her shoe; she wears white gloves,
but they are badly soiled. She wears a three-quarter-length grey
squirrel coat.
American champagne is bripkin--Key-West cigars and domestic beer, and
imitation coffee. (See _Voip_.)
A bripkin umbrella is made of gloria.
The second-rate suburb of a great city is a bripkin, and so is he who
dwells therein. He wears a watch-chain strung across his vest. (See
_Mooble_.)
Bripkins are the marked-down gowns and suits, at the tail end of the
season; and the green hat, “reduced from $18.75.”
_A Bripkin sat in a trolley car,
And his eyes were bright and tiny;
His collars and cuffs were slightly soiled,
But his finger nails were shiny._
_A girl came in with run-over heels,
And the Bripkin up and kissed her!
But I knew, by her mangy ermine muff,
That she was his Bripkin sister._
[Illustration: BRIPKIN]
=Cow´cat=, _n._ 1. A person whose main function is to occupy space.
An insignificant, or negligible personality. 2. A guest who
contributes nothing to the success of an affair; one invited to
fill up, or from a sense of duty. 3. An innocent bystander.
The cowcat will not talk, but oh, how he listens! How he watches! How he
criticises! But why speak of the cowcat as “he”? They usually have
large, black satin, placid abdomens, or else they are thin and nervous,
with acid eyes. (See _Yowf_.)
How describe a cowcat? There’s nothing about it to describe. It’s a
jelly-fish--a heavy jelly-fish, however. It sits upon your stomach, like
a nightmare.
Cowcats fill hotel chairs, and the rockers of summer verandahs, knitting
gossip. (See _Mooble_.)
Your wife’s relatives?
_The cowcats in the corners sat,
And brooded ’gainst the wall,
And some were thin and some were fat,
But none would talk at all._
_The atmosphere grew thick and cold--
It had begun to jell,
When I, with desperation bold,
Arose, and gave a yell!_
=Critch=, _v._ 1. To array oneself in uncomfortable splendor.
=Critch´et-y=, _a._ 1. Conspicuous and stiff; garbed elaborately,
especially on a hot day. 2. Painfully aware of one’s costume.
Oh, that stiff collar! That binding corset! Those burning feet in the
tight shoes! Yes, you are critched, but at the same time you have the
moral support of being becomingly and fashionably clad. A critch is half
pride and half madness--it’s the martyrdom of fashion. (See _Vorge_.)
The unaccustomed exquisite in his hard boiled shirt, stiff cuffs and
high collar stands critchety, but willing to endure the agonies of the
aristocracy.
You may be too cool in decolleté, or too warm in your furs, but vanity
vanquishes the critch.
You are critched when you have a picture taken, but that radiant smile
survives. At private theatricals all the actors are critched with tights
and swords and furbelows--trying to appear at ease. (See _Wowze_.)
The banker is critched with his silk hat in a high wind; and the
dowager, as she carefully arranges her skirts when she is seated. But to
be properly critched, you must be a Japanese countess, putting on stays
for the first time in your artless, lavender life.
_A sovereign’s lot is sad and strange,
For kings and queens, they say,
Are all uneasy; they must change
Their clothes ten times a day!_
_Ah, robes and uniforms and crowns
Are glorious things, I know,
And queens do wear expensive gowns--
They must be critchety, though!_
=Culp=, _n._ 1. A fond delusion; an imaginary attribute. 2. What one
would like to be, or thinks oneself.
=Cul´pid=, _a._ 1. Visionary, non-existent. 2. Not proved;
autohypnotized.
Many women have the culp that they are beautiful, men that they are
irresistible, shrewd, or interesting.
A culpid actor is one who thinks he can act, but can’t. His culp is that
he is making a hit. (See _Splooch_.)
The mother has the baby culp; but the infant to other eyes is not so
wonderful.
The woman with the culpid taste thinks that no other woman knows how to
dress. (See _Wumgush_.)
The author who has had three letters requesting his autograph, has the
culp that he is popular.
That young man who stays till 11.45 P.M. has a culp that he has
fascinated yawning Ysobel.
_She had a culp that she was fair,
In fact, that she was pretty;
Alas, she bought her beauty where
They sold it, in the city._
_And now her culp is: Looks will lie;
And her delight is huge--
She thinks that none suspects the dye,
The powder and the rouge!_
=Di´a-bob=, _n._ 1. An object of amateur art; anything improbably
decorated; hand-painted. 2. Any decoration or article of furniture
manufactured between 1870 and 1890.
=Di-a-bob’i-cal=, _a._ Ugly, while pretending to be beautiful.
Who invented the diabob? The infamy is attributed to John Ruskin. At any
rate, humble things began to lose the dignity of the commonplace; the
rolling-pin became exotic in the parlor. The embroidery blossomed in
hectic tidies, splashes and drapes. Hand-painting was discovered.
So, from the Spencerian skylark to the perforated “God Bless Our Home.”
Now the jigsaw was master; now, the incandescent point that tortured
wood and leather into nightmare designs. Plaques began their vogue. (See
_Gefoojet_.)
Diabobical was the hammered brasswork; diabobical the sofa cushion
limned with Gibson heads. The decorative fan, genteel; the pampas grass,
dyed bright purple; the macramé bags and the seaweed pictures passed;
came the embossed pictures stuck on bean-pots and molasses jugs; came
the esthetic cat-tail and piano-lamp, “A Yard of Daisies,” and burnt
match receivers and catch-alls, ornamented by the family genius.
Ah, Where are the moustache cups of yesteryear?
_This object made of celluloid,
This thing so wildly plushed,--
How grossly Art has been annoyed!
How Common Sense has blushed!_
_And yet, these diabobs, perhaps
Are scarcely more_ outré
_Than pictures made by Cubist chaps,
Or Futurists, today!_
[Illustration: DIABOB
_See also_ GEFOOJET, GOLOBRIFY _and_ GORGULE]
=Dig´mix=, _n._ 1. An unpleasant, uncomfortable, or dirty occupation.
2. A disagreeable or unwelcome duty.
=Dig´mix=, _v._ To engage in a necessary but painful task.
The type of the digmix is cleaning fish. At first it is disgusting,
untidy, uncomfortable. Then, you begin to enjoy it, rather; and finally,
as the clean, finished product of your skill appears, there is the
refreshing sense of duty well done. (See _Gloogo_.)
So with all household digmixes, stuffing feathers into pillows, peeling
onions, taking up carpets, putting up stove pipes, beating rugs,
attending to the furnace and washing dishes. You loathe the work, but,
when it is finished, you’re so glad you did it.
The mental digmix is less satisfactory, but just as necessary.
Discharging the cook is a digmix. Breaking the news of a death, refusing
a man who has proposed, explaining just why you came home at 2 A.M.,
accompanying a child to a dentist’s, getting a divorce, waiting on a
querulous invalid, having a lawsuit with a neighbor,--all are digmixes.
(See _Moosoo_.)
Why, to some, the mere eating of an orange or a grape fruit is a digmix!
They feel as if they ought to take a bath and then go straight to bed.
But why enlarge upon a painful subject? After all, life is just one
digmix after another.
_Poor Jones was in a digmix--he
Had blown his right front tire;
He worked from half past one till three;
Oh, how he did perspire!_
_But that was not what crazed his mind;
A digmix worse than that
Confronted him--he had to find
That day a good, cheap flat!_
=Dril´lig=, _n._ A tiresome lingerer; a button-holer.
=Dril´li-ga-tor=, _n._ Same as drillig.
=Dril´li-gate=, _v._ 1. To detain a person when he wants to go to
work or get away. 2. To talk unceasingly at an inconvenient time.
He rings you up on the telephone, or she rings you up, and drilligates
you by the hour, if you are too kind-hearted to hang up the receiver. Of
course she has nothing important to say; you know she is leaning back in
her chair, smiling, and eating chocolates. (See _Lallify_.)
The drillig calls in the rush hours of business, sits down, crosses his
legs, and nothing moves except his mouth. He is never busy and never
hurried. He catches you on the street corner, holds you by the button or
lapel, in the middle of a cursing stream of pedestrians, and tells you a
long, dull story. “Just a minute, now, I just want to tell you about--”
The Ancient Mariner was a drillig. (See _Xenogore_.)
The public speaker at the banquet rises with a bland smile and looks at
his watch. “The hour is so late,” he says, “and there are so many more
interesting speakers to be heard from, that I shall detain you with only
a few words--” and he drilligs on for an hour and six minutes by the
clock.
The drillig catches you in a corner at the club and tells you the story
of his play; the young mother nails you to the sofa with her smile, and
drilligs you about Baby.
The book agent, anchored in the front door at meal times, is the master
drilligator of them all. (See _Persotude_.)
_I was rushing for the station,
Had to catch the 5.11,
When he caught me, seized a button,
And began to talk--Oh, Heaven!_
_For the Drillig was a golfer,
And I knew he’d talk his fill;
So I cut that button off my coat--
He is talking to it still!_
=Ed´i-cle=, _n._ 1. One who is educated beyond his intellect; a
pedant. 2. One who is proficient in theory, but poor in practice.
In old times, they spoke of “Book learning” and worshiped the edicled
fool. But we are wiser today and know the hollowness of the edicle.
The edicle is the college professor who has listened to his own talk so
long that he has mistaken knowledge for wisdom. The book-worm who has
learned to believe that literature is greater than life. (See _Snosh_.)
A woman is an edicle, who prates “new thought” and juggles the trite
phrases of a philosophy too heavy for her comprehension. (See
_Orobaldity_.) A man is an edicle when he quotes Browning or Karl Marx
or Herbert Spencer. Most clergymen are edicles, and persons who rave
over pictures they don’t understand.
The book reviewer who can’t write a book himself, is an edicle. The
dramatic critic is an edicle, for he has failed as a playwright. (See
_Yowf_.)
The college girl who can’t cook is an edicle; the young medico, newly
graduated, with an “M.D.” painted on him still fresh, and wet and
green,--a mere mass of quivering Latin words. All editors are edicles.
_Josephus is an edicle,
A Doctor wise is he;
Oh, no!--not doctor medical--
Only a Ph. D._
_His brain is like a phonograph’s,
And he would starve, unless
He’d started writing monographs
On “How to BE Success._”
=Ee´got=, _n._ 1. A fair-weather friend; one who is over-friendly
with a winner. A success-worshiper.
=Ee´goid=, _a._ 1. Self-interested, mercenary.
The eegot slaps the favorite sprinter on the back and cheers him on, but
switches interest when he fails to finish. The eegot takes the popular
side of every subject, curries favor with the rich and prosperous, and
is attentive to the belle of the ball.
Four feet away from the popular hero, and you will find the eegots
clustered close. (See _Elp._)
The eegot votes for the one whom he thinks will win--he believes that
the rich can do no wrong.
The eegot always wears “the latest,” and reads only “the best sellers.”
(See _Ovotch_.)
He suddenly discovers his poor country cousin,--after she has married
the Lieutenant-Governor.
Molasses draws flies--prosperity breeds the egoid parasite.
_When you are rich and great and grand,
The eegot needs you badly;
He wags his tail, he licks your hand,
He lets you kick him gladly._
_But when your fortune’s gone, and fame,
Where is the eegot then?
Oh, he is capering just the same--
But now for other men!_
=Elp=, _n._ 1. A tricky, sly or subtle person; one who evades his
responsibilities. 2. An ingenious ruse; sharp practice.
=El´pine=, _a._ Disappointing; plausibly apologetic.
The elp is a clever promiser, who doesn’t make good. You never can pin
him down,--he always escapes you. He won’t do what he has promised, or
pay his debts; but his explanations are always all-but-convincing.
The tradesman is an elp, who promises to deliver those provisions in
time for dinner, and always has a good excuse. The ladies’ tailor is an
elp--the suit is never done on time. (See _Goig_.)
At the employment agency, the elps abound. They are always “sure to
come” on Thursday. Friday and Saturday pass by.
The elp never quite knows, but would never confess his ignorance. It is
impossible to get him to say either “Yes” or “No.”
Most infamous among the elps is the philandering suitor, who is
attentive to you for years and years, keeping serious men away, and yet
who will not propose. (See _Xenogore_.)
_He promised he would pay in June--
Then August--then September;
And then he sang the same old tune:
He promised for December._
_His sister died--his wife fell ill--
His brother needed help;
And I believed his tales, until
I saw he was an elp._
=Fid´gel-tick=, _n._ Food that it is a bore to eat; anything
requiring painstaking and ill-requited effort. 2. A taciturn
person, one from whom it is hard to get information.
The fidgeltick tastes good, but is it really worth while? Come
now,--doesn’t salad really bore you--unless it is served, as in
California, at the beginning of a meal, while you are still hungry?
Broiled live lobster! How succulent, yet how meagre its reward to the
appetite! Frogs’ legs are fidgelticks, and shad and grape fruit and
pistachios. Why can’t such tasteful delicacies be built with the
satisfactory architecture of the banana? The artichoke gives perhaps the
minimum of reward with the maximum of effect. (See _Voip_.)
And who does not flinch at a Bent’s water cracker?
To make cranberry sauce with the skins in, and cherry pie with the
stones, should be against the law.
So it is, to extract information from a railroad official after an
accident. Interviewing the master of a steamer is like getting the meat
out of a butternut, or the flesh out of a shrimp. Sooner or later, you
will give him up in discouragement. He’s a fidgeltick! (See _Jurp_.)
Politely you inquire of a ticket seller at the theatre; you might as
well talk with a foreigner, or a deaf man. All, all are fidgelticks!
_I wish that I could eat as fast
As actors, on the stage;
Five minutes does a dinner last--
No fidgelticks enrage._
_If they should dine on soft boiled eggs
In some new problem play,
Or lobsters broiled, or frogs’ hind legs--
What would the actors say?_
=Floo´i-jab=, _n._ 1. A cutting remark, disguised in sweetness. 2. A
ladylike trouble-maker.
=Floo´i-jab=, _v._ To make a sarcastic comment in a feminine manner.
=Floo-i-jab´ber-y=, _n._ Feline amenity.
For the flooijab of commerce, see the typical Ethel-Clara dialogues in
the comic papers; and yet, one cannot describe the tone--the sugared
smile that gives the shot its sting. (See _Varm_.)
Anent women’s looks, the flooijabs fly fastest.
“Oh, yes, Helen _used_ to be a very beautiful girl!”
“We’re not so young as we used to be, but you do look awfully pretty,
_today_.”
“No,--I don’t think you look a day older,--except when you are tired.”
“I’m _so_ delighted that you are engaged to Harry! How did you do
it--‘holding the thought’?”
“They do say she’s awfully fast--but I never noticed anything--I think
she’s sweet. Too bad she’s talked about so!”
“I think you gave an awfully good performance--of course, you weren’t a
Bernhardt, but then ...” (See _Wumgush_.)
“I’m so sorry you didn’t make good; it’s a shame! I think you did
awfully well, really!”
“I thought your little story was so good. I suppose influence with the
editors counts a lot,--doesn’t it?”
_You think they talk of men and mice,
Of operas, and cabs;
Ah no! Beneath those phrases nice,
They’re shooting flooijabs._
_No man can know--but women may
Interpret women’s smiles--
It’s what they mean--not what they say,
That stings in women’s wiles._
=Frime=, _n._ 1. An educated heart. 2. One who always does the right
thing at the right time; a person who can be depended upon in time
of need.
The mind is cultivated until it is hypercivilized, but where is the
educated heart? The frime, like the fool, is born, not made; no one has
told him when to speak and when to remain silent, or when to laugh and
when to cry. (See _Zobzib_.)
The frime knows when you are hungry, when you are thirsty and when you
would be let alone. He speaks a person’s name so clearly when he
introduces you that you can actually understand.
The frime knows when to come and when to go; he makes the lion as
comfortable as the humblest guest. He sends you fruit instead of
flowers. The frime knows the etiquette of life and love and death; he
likes you in spite of your faults. As a lover, he never makes you or
himself ridiculous. As a consoler, he is never guilty of that most
ironic bromide: “If there is anything I can do, let me know.” (See
_Spuzz_.)
_When I was down and out, one time--
Believe me, ’twasn’t funny!--
I chanced upon a thorough frime;
Unasked, he lent me money._
_When I was rich, and he was poor
I lent to help his need;
And did he pay it back?, Why, sure!
There was a frime, indeed!_
=Fud=, _n._ 1. In a state of déshabille, or confusion. 2. A mess, or
half-done job.
=Fud´dy=, _a._ Disordered, untidy, unkempt.
What is a fud? A woman in curl papers and her oldest kimona. A man in
his shirt-sleeves with his suspenders hanging from two buttons, down
behind. It is a half built house; half cooked potatoes on the back of
the stove. Anyone in stocking feet. (See _Frowk_.)
No one can help being fuddy, at times, so long as there is
house-cleaning and moving to be done; but some fuds are fuddier than
others. A house that is being reshingled, for instance, is far less
fuddy than an actress washing greasepaint off her face, or stumbling in
a peignoir through a Pullman car, her hair tousled, to reach the
dressing-room. (See _Spigg_.)
Ellen’s top bureau drawer is fuddy, after she has tried to find “that
veil.” The parlor and library are fuddy after the reception.
It’s an unpleasant subject. Let us end it, with the mention of
half-dried wash and unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink. (See _Uglet_.)
_I call you fuddy--how severe
My accents disapproving!
And yet, you cannot help it, dear,
Alas, for we are moving!_
_The house is fuddy--so am I,
And so is everybody!
The moving van is late, so why
Should we not all be fuddy?_
=Frowk=, _n._ 1. A spicy topic. 2. An action considered to be about
half wrong.
=Frow´]cous=, _a._ Nice, but naughty, or considered so; piquantly
provocative; risqué, pertaining to sex.
How frowcous is the limerick, in its most perfect form! That frowk which
it is just barely possible to recite at a dinner party:-- “There was a
young lady so thin, that she slightly resembled a pin; don’t think that
I’d creep to her window and peep--I was told by a friend, who looked
in.”
’Tis a frowcous epoch--eugenics, white slavery, and the “dangerous age”
are now the vogue, and a play that’s not a frowk can scarcely make a hit
on Broadway. (See _Ovotch_.)
In the era of “sensibility”--when ladies had the vapors, the sight of a
man shaving himself was frowcous. Now, we subscribe for the foreign
illustrated comic papers, and speak boldly concerning “Damaged Goods.”
(See _Bleesh_.)
Once a turkey trot was frowcous; bare feet and cocktails--but little is
frowcous now. There are _so_ many “things that a young girl ought to
know!”
_A frowcous tale one day I told
To Revered Eli Meek.
His laughter he could scarcely hold--
It lasted for a week._
_He couldn’t stop his wild guffaws;
To calm his merry gale
He had to leave the church, because
He had to tell the tale!_
=Ge-fooj´et=, _n._ 1. An unnecessary thing; an article seldom used.
2. A tool; something one ought to throw away, and doesn’t. 3. The
god of unnecessary things.
=Ge-fooj´et-y=, _a._ 1. Superfluous. 2. Pertaining to an old garret.
“Oh, no, I don’t want to throw that away yet; I’ll give it away to
somebody, some time,” or “We may need it.” This is the doctrine of
Gefoojet, which, preached and practiced in New England, has outlived the
dogma of infant damnation. A thousand housewife martyrs have suffered
years of persecution, testifying to the sublime nonsense. (See
_Quisty_.)
In my grandmother’s wood-house closet, were ten thousand pieces of
folded brown paper, and one hundred miles of string, salvaged from
by-gone packages in sacrifice to Gefoojet.
Old letters, half used scrap-books, bottles, boxes and fragments of
hardware accumulate unceasingly.
What is a Gefoojet? It’s something you haven’t used for two years, an
old magazine or your wedding dress.