Friends, please do join me for three minutes as we play with a fun new word: ‘Derivative‘. It could very well become this year’s ‘Random’. Yes, it’s that good.
‘Random, by the way, is a word I’ve almost given up on.
No, make that: ‘Random‘ is, by the way, a word on-which I’ve almost given up.’
Hmm.. ‘Random is a word up-on-which, by the way. I’ve almost given.’?
But perhaps only scientists and math-lovers get the Heebie-Jeebies seeing ‘random’ used in-accurately; I wouldn’t know. Diazepam helps of course, but if I have to read another ‘Hi, Xangans, Dave here. Hey wuts everybody think about what Paul rote about Dan’s random rant on gay lesbians?’ I may have go back to to banging Heroin again.
Actually though, the terminal tinsel-itus on the Front Page is more ‘Derivative’ than ‘Random’.
Which is why we need this-here delicious and up-to-date Tutorial.
Let’s start with The Cow as the Prime Mover/Moo-er. She gives milk. E-props to her. So far so good. No Google ad-sense in the cow-barn.
The dairy farmer then becomes the bovine’s (figurative) 1st derivative. Why? Because the guy don’t give no milk, personally, he just collects it from ‘willing?’ victims.
And the whole bottling and logistics apparatus to get the milk safely to the 7-11™ is somewhere on the line between 1st and 2nd derivative. I mean, Old MacDonald/Farmer von Braun could in principle set up a stand down at the end of the lane, and sell milk ‘first-hand’. But then, so could Bossie and the girls, if they had the language skills, some clean buckets, a bit more business acumen… and pockets to put the money in.
What’s decidedly 3rd derivative however, in the lactose-racket, are the copy-writers and jingle-janglers who earn an honest(?) living trying to persuade Mr. and Mrs. Joe Blowfish to buy milk exclusively from Seven-Eleven, renouncing all others, till death do them part. In the ad-men’s partial defense, I suppose one could find a drunken cow somewhere who, crying into her beer, moos “Ah, we couldn’t have done it without you, guys.” Well, sober up, Ms. Schlesswig-Holstein and get with today’s mantra: “Yes We Can!” Black, white, brown, it’s a whole new world out there.
But sadly, a world in which the derivative slope I describe here becomes daily slippier and slippery-er:
Fourth-derivative parasites now make a living a Jersey could only dream of, ‘mining’ our innocent cows’ blog sites and e-mail accounts for any reference to the key-words:‘milk, dairy, ‘diary'(?) or even ‘cheesus-Christ!’, and re-selling the sucker-lists to advertisers. (Wonder what my Google-ads look like on this very post?)
And worse yet, (5th derivative) in a proof of the poetic but prophetic claim that ‘even fleas have smaller fleas which bite ’em”, employment agencys sprout like mushrooms after the rain promising work, for a finder’s fee, in the lucrative trade of ad-targeting.
The noble primodial cow, along with this writer, (a friend of cattle since birth), is terribly not amused.
I urge my Readers to stamp-out/ignore derivatives on sight, as a service to humanity. Here’s a handy chart in generalized math/Xanga terms:
1st Actor: He/she actually ‘goes somewhere’
1st Derivative: Sells info on “How fast is he going?”
2nd Derivative: Markets meta-data on ‘Is he speeding up or slowing down?’
3rd Derivative: Asks:’Has his ever-increasing rate of Xanga-popularity-growth possibly ‘maxed-out?”
And the 4th sub-level of Derived-Hell sez: ‘Whatevah. Who cares where he is? The sucker’ll probably click on something if we phrase and place the ad correctly, either to console his bruised penis or to celebrate its 15-minute star-status.
Thank you for your time; I have cows to milk.
Wu: So, what’s with the title?
Me: Ah yes, I forgot. There’s a new Mall opened up here at the end of the block, not a very large building for the size of their parking lot. ‘Small-box’? I asked myself when I stopped to check. Turns out it’s a Portal-Mall. The newest thing. Only has ‘Links’ to like, Wall-Mart, Wheel-Mart, Whale-Mart, Wool-Mart. etc. Busses stop there every ten minutes. You click on the mall you want and jump into the shopping cart. But some of them have viruses, so be warned.
Wu: A Food Court, at least, they got?
Me: Nah. But you can get a bus to Blockbuster and rent a DVD with pictures of vegetables. Turn in your receipt for the lottery, though.
Wu: Somehow I’m hungrier than I was before I asked. Anyway, you think the word’ll take Xanga by storm?
Me: Dunno. Sure hope so though. I’m just dying to call some guy’s post ‘derivative’ and know that my comment drew blood.
Wu: Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.