The latest attempt at ridiculous, retch-worthy rebranding is knowledge people: in other words, librarians.
Fortunately, this term was roundly rejected by a British librarians' association. Thank Thor for that. Librarian already has a relatively harmless synonym: information professional. A deeper form of drivel is unnecessary. Besides, knowledge people sound like half-human, half-data monsters from a sci-fi movie not nearly as fun as Sharknado.
Unholy hybrids aside, it's been several months since I did a theme-less euphemism roundup, and it's time I got back to basics. Please enjoy the following euphemisms, which have nothing in common except malarkey (with which they are soaked) and me (who lapped it up).
I don't know how I missed this euphemism till now, since it's clearly a contender for Euphemism of the Eon. As I was visiting my friends John and Alison — and their swaddling infant Oskar — I heard Alison mention the Diaper Genie, which is nothing more and nothing less than a bucket for dirty diapers. By this logic, a dumpster is a Garbage Genie, and a toxic waste dump is a Toxic Waste Genie. On behalf of the makers of Diaper Genie, I apologize to the genie community.
In "The Wind Cries Mary" episode of Archer, lead character/James Bond spoof Sterling Archer referred to Rodney, a new character, like so: "He's the new, whatever, gun librarian." That's a puzzling term that could easily be mistaken for part of an NRA school-safety proposal, but as Rodney quickly pointed out, it means something simpler: an armory supervisor. Oddly, gun librarian is not an entirely new or fanciful term, as seen in this bizarre bit of library news. Let's hope the next season of Archer doesn't see this character referred to as a gun knowledge person.
Southern gentleman's engineering
While perusing the Dictionary of American Regional English, I spied a term as dry as an Arizona tumbleweed rolling over a martini. This euph, which is probably not as beloved in the South as sweet tea, means "A process resulting in something that is poorly made or repaired." Now that I think about it, almost every human endeavor ever attempted, from governments to improv classes, is the result of Southern gentleman's engineering. No offense intended, y'all.
In my bank, I recently noticed a poster advertising some retirement doodad or thingy. The poster included these words: "For clients 55 years of age or better." Or better? Is this blatant fogey-flattering actually effective? I think the words the poster-maker meant to use were or deader.
I love my dog. In fact, I probably love my dog more than even Louis CK or Batman, both of whom I love lots. Still, if you ever catch me describing my pet as a fur angel, you have permission to take me to the vet and put me to sleep. I'm sure the people who use this nauseating euphemism for a pet mean well, but come on. Please. As George Costanza would say, "We're living in a society!" Furparent and furkid were bad enough, but fur angel is stuffed with enough saccharine and Splenda to give the whole world cancer. Fun fact: When you call your pet a fur angel, a real angel gets dissolved in a barrel.
This euph is left over from last month's look at Rawson's Dictionary of Euphemisms and Other Doubletalk. In that impressive tome, which I'll be citing forever, I found a term that's sadly relevant to my other job: writing teacher. Over the years, I've had oodles, or at least hundreds, of students turn in work that was improperly dependent — in other words, plagiarized.
While watching an old episode of Reno 911 — an underrated show — I heard Clemmie, the most blonde and buxom of the deputies, use an interesting term. When the deputies were debating which of them should speak to the press, vain Clemmie said, "I'm the most presentational." I reckon that's a semi-nice way of saying, "I'm the most attractive person here, which isn't a huge accomplishment, since the rest of you have faces like the back of a bus."
The meaning of this term — sometimes found in ads for apartments, condos, and houses — is as unknowable as the riddle of the sphinx. You could waterboard me AND force me to look at Instagrams of your lunch, and I wouldn't be able to tell you a single ingredient of wood-inspired flooring. All I could tell you is what it doesn't contain: wood-inspired flooring is 100% wood-free.
Wood-inspired! What a word. I wonder if this term could start a trend.
Honesty-challenged politicians could make fact-inspired statements. Fast-food restaurants could serve vitamin-inspired dishes. Sleazy businesses could offer health-inspired benefits. Perhaps the nosy NSA could offer privacy-inspired surveillance.
I just hope my editors don't start paying me money-inspired wages. That could force me to return to my old job, which might be my true vocation: selling reality-inspired bridges.