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Hifalutin!'s definitions

sludge pile

“I stuffed them in the bottom drawer when I lost my history post,” Professor Maxx explained grimly. “First the mortgage, then the electric, and then the landscaping bills went into collection. But when Cox turned off the cable, I knew it was time to address the sludge pile. Accredited Debt Relief made it possibly for me to finally diss The Gilded Age.”
“I don’t think they’ll ever run that commercial on TV,” sniffed The Perfect Daughter, relishing the knowledge of her own beefy bank account, paid for by the vanity of her plastic surgery clients. She would never keep a sludge pile.

“The sludge pile is yours,” Dick told Jane emphatically. “Grocery and meal duty are mine, as always. Provisioning is a huge job, so don’t complain. Oh, and child care for Junior? That’s Hilda’s job.”
by Hifalutin! February 22, 2022
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S'all good

It’s not at all okay, but the expression comes in handy when it is socially expedient to give reassurance. Interchangeable with No worries.
The tornado wrecked your house, you suffered a mild concussion and three broken ribs, the dog is missing, and you’re on the phone with your hysterically worried mom. “S’all good, you know, mom, s'all good. We’re all alive, praise God, that’s what counts.”

You come home to find your wife fellating your best friend, a relationship you suspected but didn’t want to confront your beloved about for fear she would get mad and divorce you. You were always a wimp. “S’all good, s’all good,” you say as you tiptoe back out of the bedroom. “No worries. See you later, hon.”
by Hifalutin! February 14, 2022
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Harumphsquad

Those who consider themselves the arbiters of all things cultural.
“Titanic!” drones NancyLee. “My grandmaw thought it was sweet, but she was weaned on MTV. Today, we consider the memes. ..”
“Enough from the harumphsquad,” objects Gabriel. “Your grandmaw liked her pickles sour, nothing wrong with that.”

Andy and Mandy dive under the couch and power down their Grand Theft Auto when greybeard mom and pop come in: watch out, it’s the harumphsquad!
by Hifalutin! February 3, 2022
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Fauxmosexual

You know it and they know it, and everyone thinks it's fine, but the closet is still a deep, comfortable place.
Mickey the fauxmosexual, divorced with a grown son, still flies to the Big Apple from Elk Horn four times a year to see the Broadway shows, stay at the 14th Street Y and spend long hours “chatting with my favorite bartenders.” Creams over Mariah and Mendelssohn interchangeably.

“Sissy Oliphant has been known to date men,” I told my bestie quizzically, “but she has moved from pad to pad with the same woman since she graduated from Barnard a decade ago and still throws Ellen theme parties; don’t tell me she’s not a fauxmosexual.”
by Hifalutin! February 3, 2022
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Coffeeshamed

When your fire breathing dragon of a brew is deemed unsuitable.
Brian took a sip and set his cup down by his chair. He cleared his throat. “Could I get a bit more milk for this?” he queried coffee freak Samantha. “Or some more hot water to dilute it?”
Coffeeshamed again. Then again, Brian was from Tampa.

“They sold me a bag of Komodo Dragon beans by mistake at Starbucks,” fumed Angie, speeding to her home in Appleton Wisconsin. “I wanted Verona! And I’m having the inlaws over for brunch. That stuff is high-fidelity. I know I’ll be coffeeshamed.
by Hifalutin! February 21, 2022
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Pillows

Detta swung her foomfy pillows over the side and got up to face another day. Robert Crumb watched approvingly, setting the needle down on his morning Elmore James selection (original, not remastered) before padding back to bed. “The Sky Is Crying” was all he had now, that and Detta’s thighs.

“Rad barrels, bro,” says Caleb, shaking droplets from his hair and holding aloft his longboard at Maverick's.
“Later,” says cousin Om, "Can’t hear you.” Eyes glomming onto the wenches ranged across the sand.
“You always were a thigh bloke,” says Caleb. “When will you wake up to good old fashioned T and A?”
“Them’s my father’s trip,” says Om. “I prefer the pillows.”
by Hifalutin! February 10, 2022
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no-see'ums

“How did you sleep?” said Mom, unloading the dishwasher.
“Oh,” said Abigail. “You know. The no-see’ums as usual.” She didn’t want to flip Mom out so she didn’t elaborate: the overdrawn Visa; Jonny’s tuition; her injured shoulder from where the box fell in the Amazon warehouse. But Mom knew anyway. She always knew. She was Mom after all. She was a bear.

Mike stared at the ceiling--two o’clock a.m., and the no-see'ums were at him again, biting. Why had she left him? He was a good guy. Maybe because he couldn’t treat her as lavishly as she wanted. And anyway, everyone was going to die. Perhaps it was that at the bottom. And there was nothing he could do about it. Was there? God was good, wasn’t he? No, said the no-see'ums, there is no God. And all went dark.
by Hifalutin! February 15, 2022
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