Understanding Sedate Me: A Glossary of Terms

February 10, 2011

As many of you are probably aware, Sedate Me is a frequent contributor to this blog’s comment threads. Having decided that it takes a lot less effort to run your own blog within the confines of someone else’s, Sedate Me has made Fancy Plans the inadvertent host of windy essays on subject matter ranging from men’s fashion to today’s Next Big Thing.

Unfortunately, as well thought out and excessively long as these comments are, they can be a bit confusing to the uninitiated thanks to SM’s use of proprietary handcrafted vernacular. This brief (but not too brief — we are dealing with Sedate Me after all) glossary should help you suss out what the hell exactly he’s going on (and on) about.

Abu Grabass
Does not refer to Abu Gharib as would seem to be inferred by the context but rather an infamous nightclub in SM’s hometown. Regulars of Abu Grabass are loathe to call it an actual “gay bar” but locals refer to it as the “most latently homosexual bar this side of Robert Reed’s Walk-ln Closet.

The AG frequently attempts to reach both sides of the track (or touch the third rail, if you prefer) with its hi-energy drag races every Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!!!

Patronized by SM despite all claims to the contrary.

Scottish highland dancing: You don't get no better show than this!

The True Scotsman
While most outsiders and fans of rhetorical devices would recognize this as a particularly flawed argument, SM has taken this instead as an indication of RF Interference’s latent homosexuality. Hence, Abu Grabass is loaded with Mocc-Soc-wearin’ fence-straddlers every March 17th, having decided that while no true Scotsmen would be caught dead celebrating this decidedly Irish holiday, it hardly matters since no one seems to have ever actually located one.

Twits (aka Twitz, Twats, Tweeters, Twizzlers)
A derogatory term used to designate (and denigrate) those who have realized they never have anything more than 140 characters long to say.

Lifers (aka Sloppy Seconds, This Explains Why James Cameron’s “Avatar” Sucked So Much)
A derogatory term applied to the denizens of Second Life who have given up the tactile sensations of real life for the non-sensory thrill of rapidly clicking their way through awkward polygonal sex. Or, just as often, used the lack of a Second Life Better Business Bureau to run clicky, polygonal pyramid schemes.

Loserbook, Loserbookers
The outcasts of Facebook who have been exiled by admins for falling below the five-friend threshold. At four friends or below, their accounts are transferred to the outer edges of Facebook where their fierce unlikeabilty will no longer trouble the other 500 million users who seem to have no problems coming up with at least 5 family members, much less 5 friends.

Due to the communication barrier, no Loserbooker is able to escape this purgatory as befriending another LB puts that new friend over the 5-friend limit and sends them back to the real Facebook, deleting them from the friends’ list of the (probably) ugly soul left behind.

Unfortunately, LB friends do not carry over to Facebook meaning the recent escapee enjoys mere moments of socializing and sulfur-free air before their account is updated, removing their LB friend and dropping them below the threshold and dumping them back into the private (but really not all that private — check your Settings) hell of Loserbook once again.

Tsk and whatnot.

Motherfuckers who are always ruining shit. Usually rich motherfuckers with the pull to buy politicians and rewrite legislation in their own image.

Also refers to those motherfuckers who act as “helicopter parents” to entire nations, telling them what is safe to read, eat and watch. They also have problems with your musical tastes and insanely filthy mouth. A national bedtime is on the way to prevent anyone from sticking anything into anyone for pleasurable reasons. If you need to procreate, please run it by the motherfuckers first so they can have the appropriate representatives on hand to make sure no one enjoys it.

These motherfuckers are all over the media as well, providing us with “The News We Thought You Could Use” and “All the News That’s Fit to [REDACTED].”

Free Market
The fevered wet dream of “capitalist running dogs” who are so busy tearing the world a new fiscal asshole that they fail to notice they are swiftly being overtaken by avenging Cossacks who have crossed both the boundaries of time and metaphorical limits to avenge the pillaging of the many for the good of the few. (And possibly do a little pillaging of their own. They are Cossacks after all.)

Senator. Co-Founder. Scholar. Gentleman. Pimp.

Cocksucker Council
A Canadian regulatory office which, thanks to severe budget cuts, is charged with both keeping radio broadcasts free of derogatory slang (i.e., “bitches”) and ensuring a steady cash flow from its more profitable branch, the National Cocksuckers (i.e., “bitches who better have my money”) Union.

Normally, overseeing national prudishness would seem to conflict with supplying sex in exchange for money but thanks to advanced compartmentalization, the CC is able to run both with a clear conscience.

Idiots. More specifically, the kind of idiot that is bred in the open air of bad ideas and good intentions. Mix this with a bit of free-range oversensitivity and cruelty-free bleeding heart and bam! Fuckers + Retards = Fucktards, a breed of oxygen swiller prone to reactionary censorship as a way to promote tolerance and diversity.

“Let’s make things more open by closing this door here! Oh, maybe that one, too… and this window. Nothing out there but perspective.”

Including, but not limited to fucktards, free marketeers, politicians, censors, pop “artists,” techno fans, people who wear invisible socks, people who “dress to impress,” people who dress for confidence, people who dress, the music industry, Cossacks who lean more toward pillaging than avenging, lawyers, smart-arsed bloggers, and people who die of pneumonia (and their representation).

The only product motherfuckers make.



  1. This is one of your best (most hila-HAHAHA-rious) posts ever, Cap!! Howling so loud it could be heard in both the penthouse unit and basement storage room (a span of ~36 floors). You have no idea how much I am looking forward to reading SM’s response. SM may be guilty indeed of running a ‘blog within a blog,’ but I have to confess to running a, well, confessional (mea culpa). You two play off each other so well, think of it as a collaborative enterprise. I’ll be looking for Sedate Me’s byline under Macho Business Donkey Wrestlers. Seriously funny shit, Cap.

    • Thanks, Elizabeth. I’m looking forward to his response as well (which will probably run ~two pages, single-spaced). But I’m really not sure what else I should say until the guest of honor arrives. (Or should I say “on-her”? Haha. No, I won’t. I’ll save that until he arrives.)

      You do tend to be a bit confessional in your comments, but I always assumed it had something to do with living a rich, full, disturbing life and having no outlet beyond twitted photos as an outlet. Perhaps some sort of blog is in the offing? (If not, feel free to use the comment threads as a proxy. Everyone else does.)

  2. I have cleared my calender for the next few days in anticiption…can not wait.

  3. A very helpful glossary, CLT, but it’s biographical information I’m interested in.

    Based on what I’ve read to date, I think Sedate Me may live in a remote Northern Ontario community called “the Riverbank”(just east of Billy Van-couver) and be employed as a co-pilot operating a two-seat plane with a Frenchman known only as G.P.

    Just speculation mind you – but I can make a strong case if pressed.


    • After reading:


      I’m now picturing Sedate Me as a capo or consigliere of some sort of Maple Leaf Cosa Nostra.

    • I think you may have something there, Don but I guess we won’t know until SM actually shows up to neither confirm or deny those allegations. At length.

      I look forward to you presenting your case. You’ve got a fine way with terse wording, one that today’s overly wordy youth could learn from.

      A true pleasure to see you again, Don. Thanks for dropping by.

    • Mr Mills, Billy Vanncouver and The Riverbank are very close to me along with the island of Maljardin. http://www.maljardin.com/castofcharacters.html

      Growing up, I spent almost every Saturday with the Desmond family. Good people with horrible luck. I especially relate to Jean Paul and his struggles. Jean Paul actually gave me the ultra-cool blue couch http://www.youtube.com/user/strangeparadise69#p/a/CDE959D139467A1A/1/pQPo47MOb8Q
      featured in this home movie. I too enjoy the occasional emotion suppressing libation on it.

  4. This was irresistibly funny CLT. I kind of guessed at the meaning of most of those terms, in the same way that I do with the majority of polysyllabic words that I run into.

    Some of those comment threads are a thing of might and beauty…and often anger. I’m going to have to go back and enjoy a few choice archives with the fresh eyes of understanding.

    • Thanks, Scott. I understand the guessing part. I find myself doing the same thing, often when doing a quick re-read before posting.

      I’m sure given enough time and energy (and anger) we could all be leaving intensely polysyllabic comments at each other’s blogs. I mean, we all did it over at Sick Days but man, I can’t even imagine keeping up with that these days.

      Thanks for the comment and compliments, Scott. Enjoy the stroll through SM’s oral history. I know I have been. I’ll be back later to add an entendre to the “oral” phrase.

  5. …fingers drumming on desk…

    • Don’t hold your breath. He’s probably off creating a blog just so he can instantly discredit my opening statement.

    • Be patient Elizabeth, I only write at my place of work (You think I’d burn up my personal time writing this shit?) and work is actually keeping me busy for a change. With some luck, I might get a response done by Friday.

      Or are you tapping your fingers waiting for that spanking I owe you?

    • The latter, but only if I get out ‘alive’ (if you catch my drift).

    • Whenever you both are through with this ad hoc chatroom, I’ve still got a blog to run. At the very least, set yourselves to [whisper].

    • Since Sedate Me doesn’t follow me on Twitter, I can’t DM so this blog seems like the PERFECT place to…hehehe

  6. First, I’d like to thank the Academy of Fancy Pants for this honour. It’s not often an esteemed group such as this recognizes one’s greatness. The honouring of my vocabulary is particularly flattering, as I often fancy myself a bluer, less criminally inclined, version of Conrad Black. With as much humility as I am capable of mustering, I tip my hat to the Academy. It takes a strong mind to grasp the genius of the “blog within a blog” concept. I first came up with it after watching this scene from Escape From The Planet of the Apes while relaxing in my smoking jacket and puffing on, shall we say, a “decorative glass sculpture”. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTv6hwBF7A4 Why limit yourself to one blogging reality when you can step back and impose yourself upon an infinite number of blogging realities? The technique also serves as an ultra-subtle satire of the parasitic nature of modern capitalism. The more blogs I leech onto, the closer I get to being Too Big To Fail.

    Now, while the Academy’s explanations are largely accurate, there are a few things I must correct or elaborate on:

    Abu Grabass
    Does not refer to Abu Gharib as would seem to be inferred by the context but rather an infamous nightclub in SM’s hometown…the “most latently homosexual bar this side of Robert Reed’s Walk-ln Closet.

    Actually, the implied context was right. I’d rather do time in Abu Ghraib than listen to Vampire Weekend shill for corporations. But you are correct about Abu Grabass being a latently homosexual bar in my hometown. They drew the inspiration for the name from the biggest latently homosexual operation on the planet, the US military. More specifically, the S&M dungeon known as Abu Ghraib. The nonstop, leashed up, electrified, male-on-male action of Abu Ghraib made even the wildest of Elton John’s cocain addled sex parties look like a PBS kid show. Elton may have dressed like a dog, but he never actually used dogs. More forcible penetration of males occurred during an average day at Abu Ghraib than in the entire history of the Oswald Correctional Facility.

    Abu Grabass (the bar) does a great public service. They attract repressed fence straddlers who’ve spent their lives trapped in closets full of stealth-socks with the comfortingly hyper-macho image of a military prison; an image that belies the truth of what’s inside. The folks at Abu Grabass help them to relax with colourful libations and the harmless fun of Drag Races. Then they take them to the back rooms and ram their sexual orientation down their throats until they finally stop gagging on it and accept themselves for who they really are.

    Contrary to your belief, I admit to occasionally patronizing the establishment. However, while I do know several Friends of Dorothy, I’m not remotely “musical”, as the Brits say. I go merely to support and encourage self-acceptance in the gay community, if for no other reason than emptying the closets leaves more trim for me. I don’t go often because it puts me in the position of having to reject a lot of advances and, worse yet, listening to a lot of techno music. But there are reasons to enjoy going there. I most certainly take pleasure in watching lesbians preform “enhanced interrogations” until the suspect gives up her Safe Word. I have also been, uh, impressed by a few very convincing trannies. But, far and away, the main reason I go there is to grab your sister’s ass out on the dance floor! Let me know if she ever plans on making one of these (Not Safe For Work) http://www.xtoysusa.com/170xusxa.htm replicas.

    The True Scotsman
    While most outsiders and fans of rhetorical devices would recognize this as a particularly flawed argument, SM has taken this instead as an indication of RF Interference’s latent homosexuality.

    No true Scotsman would recognize The True Scotsman as a particularly flawed argument. I certainly don’t. As for RF Interference’s orientation, if Abu Grabass was located in his hometown, his next backyard barbecue would feature a kilt-clad Village People tribute band preforming in front of a bonfire of stealth socks.

    And those God-damned Irish! I grew up in a 90% Irish town. The elementary school’s logo used to be a clover with boxing gloves. It was next door to a strip club named The Shillelagh. At recess, some kids would go over and have a drink with their dads. Half the dads were cops paid to arrest the other half’s dads and the kids themselves. Other than to mock them, I don’t know why so many non-Irish like to pretend they’re Irish on St Patrick’s Day. Bunch of shiftless, layabout, drunken, criminals who can’t hold their liquor and can’t go an hour without getting into a fistfight and/or having sex with the nearest warm body. And that’s just the women!

    Internet Losers

    Twits, as the Twit Zone logo itself communicates, are a bunch of bird brains who spend their days sitting in trees and “following” every meaningless detail of the lives of others. NO Lifers create a 2nd Life to cover the fact that they have no First Life. Loserbookers spend all day collecting thousands of “friends” they’ll never meet and who wouldn’t want talk to them even if they did. The common denominator of all of the above is that modern technology becomes a drug that masks the pain of their miserable little lives. At least heroin leaves a smaller carbon footprint.

    Elites, Motherfuckers, Free Markets, Capitalist Running Dogs and assorted lackeys

    Back in Adam Beck’s day (nice touch by the way), much of the elite were motherfuckers. But many had enough of a Spider Man-ish notion of power & responsibility to build a few libraries with the fruits of the labour of others, or at least enough of a sense of shame not to do something like this http://www.tmz.com/2009/02/24/northern-trust-bank-bailout/ . Rarely did they lack the basic human decency to beat a guest to death in their private bowling alley, at least without good reason. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8NGjbqeCn-8

    Today’s elites shit in the mouths of commoners, not just out of profit motivations, but for the sheer joy of shitting in their mouths and leaving them to clean up the mess. (See: Bailouts) Back in my homey Beck’s day, the only time members of the elite did that was as one of a flotilla of latently homosexual private school rituals. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iR3fzKJ1OtA


    With the ease at which they are manufactured and the speed at which the reproduce, Fucktards are rapidly becoming the dominant species in North America and are spreading around the world. While the Rednecked Ignoramus is the most established species, Fucktards are now so large in number they are present, if not dominant, in nearly all walks of life. Fucktards are more than just stupid. They’re damn proud of it and strive to marinate themselves in stupidity all day long. Fucktards are so stupid and so self destructive, even with their feverish breeding practices, one begins to wonder how they ever became the dominant species.

    While I could go on, the conductor of the house band seems to be having a well orchestrated stroke. So, in closing, I’d again like to thank the Academy of Fancy Pants and look forward to expanding their appreciation for my greatness.

    • SM –

      First, let me say thanks for accepting this somewhat dubious honor. I myself have been known to “shift the paradigm” and “blog within a blog” a few times as well. I’ve been threatened with banishment (Stop Annoying Me) and been party to multiple “blogs within a blog” (Sick Days), but all in all, when you’ve got a URL attached to your screen name, people tend to let it slide.

      I was tempted to let you ride out a week before responding to this but my work schedule has allowed me to answer this in a more timely fashion, provided I keep getting out of bed earlier and earlier and stay the hell away from glass pipes and the substances contained therein. (Tobacco, I’m assuming?)

      As for the multiple clarifications you’ve listed, I’m afraid I won’t be able to tackle every one of them because, well, I already fired my opening salvo and really didn’t leave anything for backup.

      As for the real Abu Gharib: three words come to mind – Stanford Prison Experiment. You give someone a lot of power (over someone else) and a minimum of oversight and you end up with this atrocity. Unfortunately, our government does a whole lot of this +power, -oversight activity and sooner or later, you end up being pornoscanned and groped every time you travel from Point A to Point B. In dubious defense of AG, I highly doubt the Standford Prison Experiment effect is limited to Americans. But most other countries have the foresight not to collect a ton of photographic evidence.

      I have avoided the truncated siren song of Twitter and the poser porn of Second Life thus far, but I am an inveterate Loserbooker. It allows me to keep touch with everyone in my life as well as providing me a Like button to express favorable feelings. Oh, and I run a hell of a farm as well.

      I’m pretty much a libertarian when it comes to the political arena so contrary to what most people assume, I get as irritated by corporations that ingratiate themselves with the government at the expense of the general public. I don’t have a problem with a free market, but the US only pretends to have one. It works fine for small companies, I guess but if you’re big enough you can keep getting the playing field leveled until it tilts directly into your gaping maw. Failing that, there’s always the exceedingly long legislative straw which allows them to drink your milkshake, thereby bringing all the boys to their yard. Fucktards.

      Thanks again for the incredibly wordy response, SM. I would have expected no less. Now we can all sit back and wait for your blog to open.

    • I’m afraid I won’t be able to tackle every (clarification) because, well, I already fired my opening salvo and really didn’t leave anything for backup.

      You always have to be careful not to shoot your wad too fast because, no matter what they say to you, you’re rarely given a second chance. No need to be embarrassed, though. It happens to the best.

      I probably have a lot more wad to shoot than most, so it’s almost never a problem. However, even I must occasionally conjure up mental images that “slow things down” a bit. The last time I had to do that, I thought about how that evening’s dinner was grown and prepared. That’s “kill or cure” territory, so only use it in emergencies.

      but I am an inveterate Loserbooker. It allows me to keep touch with everyone in my life as well as providing me a Like button to express favorable feelings. Oh, and I run a hell of a farm as well.

      You’re a farmer too -eh? Is that farm of the herbal kind or the Sex Farm variety? Or is that one of those Loserbook farms I endlessly hear about in the “news” media? I’d like to send some of those motherfucking “farmers” into my field on a hot summer’s day. The mini-series Roots comes to mind.

      And favourable feelings??? Favourable feelings???? What the fuck? What the hell kind of Hippie/Voodoo cult is that Zuckerberg clown running anyway? Send in the de-programmers immediately!

      Thanks again for the incredibly wordy response, SM. I would have expected no less. Now we can all sit back and wait for your blog to open.

      You’re welcome. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was mildly appreciated on the odd occasion. Elizabeth, for one, seems to be looking at me as of late like I was a battery operated device, if you catch my drift.

      As for my own website (blogging is below me, darling), it may even appear this year. But it seems I’ll have to light a fire under my in-house nerd first. But, should that day ever come, I won’t be allowing any motherfucker to drink from my milkshake. That’s for sure.

  7. FINALLY! You did not disappoint SM. I read this last night before retiring (4:30 am) and decided I needed to come for a leisurely re-read when I was not so exhausted (2:30 am). The first thing I had to do was scurry off to wiki to bone up on Conrad Black (anyone named ‘Conrad’ and who spent time in the pokey for “diversion of funds for personal use” is okay in my book (I think…um, maybe not).

    I will have to add your (first) YouTube vid of the ‘infinite artist’ on Fundamental Jelly’s post: http://fundamentaljelly.com/2010/06/16/en-plein-air/ once I figure how how it all ties together (or maybe you do it for me).

    I thought I had my biggest laugh today when someone made a Freudian typo and spelled birth control as ‘bitch control’…but “repressed fence straddlers who’ve spent their lives trapped in closets full of stealth-socks” may be funnier. I least I hope it was to RF.

    Great, great read. Enjoyed every minute of it. I’m going to start implementing this illuminating glossary of terms on Twitter. My first tweet: A cab driver asked if it was true Conrad Black was black. He relied, “No Man, if he was black he would still be in jail!”

  8. You wouldn’t exactly be the first woman I left completely exhausted in the wee hours of the morning.

    Conrad “Tubby” Black was a regular whipping boy of my favourite Canadian satirical/scandal magazine, Frank Magazine, which has sadly gone tits up, although it’s Atlantic version still exists. (Curiously, The Clinton School of Public Service has stolen both Frank’s name and title font!) During Black’s legal battles, Frank hand delivered a cake with a file in it to him.

    As for “bitch” control…if such a thing existed, it would outsell boner pills 500 to 1.

  9. “As for ‘bitch control’…if such a thing existed, it would outsell boner pills 500 to 1” – a friend

    That easily came in at under 140 characters.

  10. I have officially incorporated ‘fucktard’ into my everyday vernacular.

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