As everyone who lived in the 90’s and has any taste whatsoever knows, Festivus is a holiday celebration observed every year on December 23rd. It starts with an unadorned pole – because, let’s face it, nobody’s got the time or patience for fancy tree decoratin’ – and then you get together to enjoy many time-honored Festivus rituals, including the Airing of Grievances, the Festivus Meal (of Convenience), and the Feats of the Strength.
Sadly, it’d be a little difficult to share a Festivus dinner with all of you, what with this being a blog and all. I can’t really fit you in my house as a group and I, believe it or not, I don’t have even enough chips and dip to go around.
Although we DO have a lot of cookies.
This being the internet, though, it The. Perfect. Place for The Airing of Grievances. Sadly, though, much as I would enjoy it, I don’t have the time to sit here and type out a post detailing of all my grievances. It would end up 5000 words long and would read like the spit-flinging ramblings of a man with a beard housing a large family of rodents.
I like to pretend I’m not that guy. Yet.
But I DO have one grievance I can’t lit slip by. I’ve got a problem with you people and you’re all going to hear about it.
What the hell is SOOOOOOO wrong with the word “moist”?
Everywhere I go, everyone I meet, sooner or later I hear them complain that “moist”is just The. Worst. Word. Nobody likes it. Nobody. Apparently it’s just evil and wrong, to be counted up there with Hitler and Pharaoh and New Coke.
Well, I’m here to set the record straight. There’s nothing wrong with the word “moist”, and I don’t want to hear anyone, ANYWHERE complaining about it again. Because, moisture, see, is a good thing. A damned good thing. One of the best things, actually. For instance, all that cake you people seem to love so much? Moist cake beats the holy living tar out of those bone-dry cupcake pucks little Ellen’s mom gave out at her birthday every day of the week and twice on birthdays. Cake that isn’t moist is like summer without ice cream…a sad, boring, depressing waste of time.
And that’s certainly not the only thing good about “moist”. A million things are better moist that not. Brownies, because dry ones make the angels weep, usually on broken teeth. Steaks, because I know you can remember that shoe leather your grandfather used to
char grill and then force you to eat. Would you believe it started life as a lovely piece of sirloin? Moist spring grass is delightful, and I bet you can even smell right now. Hell, even your physical form is better moist. Dehydration kills, you know. And hangovers suck mostly because you’re not moist.
Moist, my friends, is a good, good thing.
Okay, fine, so maybe, just maybe, there’s one or two connotation of “moist” that isn’t everyone’s favorite. But, come on, in the long run doesn’t the good that comes from moist far, FAR outweigh the bad? I mean, admit it, even the moist you don’t like is kind of important and helpful from time to time, if you know what I mean. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
So, hey, let’s all give “moist” a break, okay?
Still not convinced? Fine. Let’s instead talk about words that are really awful. Like, “boner”, for instance. Boner is a terrible, horrible, awful word. You can’t even use in everyday conversation without being labeled some kind of deviant. Even worse, “boner” is often best remembered as the derogatory nickname of that one poor kid in your high school. Damn word probably ruined his life. And yet, as awful as “boner” is, you people cling to the idea that “moist” is the worst thing you’ve every heard.
Well, it’s not. And I challenge anyone to look me in the eye and say with a straight face that ”boner” is better than “moist”.
I bet you couldn’t even read that with a straight face.
So, in the coming year I expect to hear a lot more support for the word “moist” than you people have been giving it. It’s a good word. A helpful word. And, believe me, I can come up with even worse words than “boner”. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear them.
And that, puddintopians, is (more than) enough grievance out of me.
Have a great Festivus! May your holidays be happy and silly and full of delightful, moist things! Enjoy yourself and your loved ones, no matter who or where you are.
Have a cookie or two for me, and, uh, try not to set the place on fire.