The Cool cannot really be defined or quantified. It has to be felt. Some would say that The Cool is dieing, but it can still be found. In the the corners of once smoky jazz clubs, in the lining of an old felt hat, in the music of Miles Davis and Yusef Lateef. Prophets of the Cool occasionally arise in the night, out of dark alleys or illegally boarded trains. The Cool cannot simply be assumed. It must be lived, spoken, breathed.
The Cool may have gone underground, but it is not dead. The Cool cannot be killed, or ruled, or regulated. It has it's own mind.
"You see that guy in the corner? He's got something of the Cool about him."
"Man, did you listen to that cat's new album? The shit was practically marinated in The Cool."
Fox News' resident undead anchor. About five years ago Hume died in the middle of a broadcast. No one noticed, including Hume who has been broadcasting nonstop ever since.
Today Barack Obama wins the Iowa Caaucus what does this mean for Hillary... brains. BRAINS. Want brains!
*Brit Hume devours intern*