#ordered dictionary

[dallasgallant]

Tough Slang |

I’ve been watching a lot of delinquent movies (I have recs) lately and I’ve started to collect the slang common in them. This is a “dictionary” that’s useful for writing but I’d still recommend looking up period or group specific slang yourself too, consider this a starting guide.

Primarily 50s-60s , mixed with general slang and relevant words.

Baby: Term of endearment [also used in Gay context]

Backseat bingo: Making out

Beat it: Go away

Belted: Beaten; Hurt

Bent car: Stolen car

Bit: Job; Robbery plan

Blade: Knives [typically switchblade]

Blast: Good time

Bop: Kill

Boss: Liked man of authority

Box job: Safe cracking

Break it up: Stop fighting

Broad: Woman

Bug: Bother

Bugging: Freaking out; Tripping

Bulls: Cops

Bum: To get by asking or begging; Vagrant

Bunk: Sleep with ; Share a prison cell

Candy ass: Coward

Can opener: Tools capable of breaking open safe

Can: Prison

Cheese it: Stop what you’re doing; Look out

Cherry: Good looking/condition [typically a car, sometimes a person]

Chicken: Coward

Cool it: Calm down

Cooler: Prison

Con: Convict; Swindle

Copped: Had the cops called on; Ratted out

Cranked: High; Drunk

Crash: Stay/sleep at someone’s place

Crazy: Deranged ; Enthusiastic about something

Cut the gas: Get to the point; shut up

Deck: Box of ciggerettes; To punch

Dibs: Laying claim on something

Dig: to understand; to like something

Dive: Low down place

Drugstore cowboy: Young man who loiters around drugstores and street corners : someone who robs drugstores : Pill popper/addict (none of these are mutually exclusive)

Flat: Broke

Flip: Panic

Freak out: Wild/irrational reaction or behavior

Fry: Executed by electric chair

Fuzz: Police

Gas: Fun or cool

Get bent: Get lost; Go fuck yourself

Get lost: Go away

Greaser: Young man with greased hair, usually of lower class , gang affiliation or juvenile delinquent

Hang: Gather together with no expressed purpose

Hang loose: Relax; Take it easy

Happenin’: Exciting/Lively/Busy ; With the times

Heat: Police

Heater: Gun

Headshrinker: Shrink; therapist

Hip: With it; Understand; Cool

Hoodlum/hood: Trouble maker; Criminal

Jam: in trouble; Cram something

JD: Juvenile delinquent

Jive: Agree with someone

Jug: Prison

Jumped: Attacked without warning; Beaten

Keen: Eager; Enthusiastic

Lay off: Leave alone

Lifer: Someone serving a life sentence

Loaded: Drunk; Armed [Depending on context]

Lone it: Do something on ones own

Loiter: Stand or wait around without purpose; hang out

Man: Colloquialism for emphasis or familiarity 

Nance: Efféminent guy/Gay

Neato: Neat; Excellent; Exciting

Nix: Kill

On the level: in the know/real

Pack: Carry some sort of weapon

Pad: Where someone lives

Pansy: Efféminent guy/Gay

Paper shaker: Cheerleader

Play hooky: skip school/obligation

Pops: Affectionate term for an older man

Punk: Hoodlum

Rat: to tell on

Reefer: Weed; Marijuana

Rod: Gun

Rumble: Organized fight

Rummies: Drunks/bums

Savvy: know/understand (similar to dig) or knowledgeable on a given topic

Scram: Go away

Scum: Despicable person

Shiner: A black eye

Sock: Punch

Skin: Fight with no weapons

Slug: Bullet ; Hit

Stay cool: Remain calm ; control yourself

“Give some skin”: High five or handshake

Soft: emotional/reactive

Spill: Tell information

Split: Leave ; Get out fast

Square: Uninteresting person; Someone never in trouble with law

Stuck: Stabbed [in context]

Sucker : Gullible person; Someone who was conned

Swingin’ : Exciting ; Hip ; throwing punches [in context]

Tanked: Drunk

“The man”: Figure of authority keeping systems in place [Oppressive] ; One who maintains status quo

Turf: Territory

War council: Meeting between organized gangs to work out issues or plan a fight

Waste: Kill

Weed: Cigarette

Whipped: Beaten

[spookythesillyfella]

GUYZ . I AM VERY PROUD TO ANNOUNCE ..

IVE FINISHED MY TONY MASK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

thank u so much to @thefrostknight for helping me with putting him together !!!! i couldn't have done it without uu !!!!!

+ photoz of me modeling the poor bastard boy ... hehe X3

[veetyuh]

CW: non-graphic mentions of CSAM, graphic descriptions of the mental health effects of viewing it, and rambling about antis in relation to it. If you've heard my shpiel on this, sorry in advance.

I used to do content moderation so I have seen way too much actually vile shit. CSAM included. And it is difficult to describe the gravity of what seeing that does to a normal person. But here's my best shot at what it did to me, anyway.

Imagine you're given a video from some nondescript, totally blank (firstname_numbers) account, and when you open it, you can't quite process what's happening on screen. It's not blurry or dark or otherwise obscured. It's very clear, but your brain won't allow you to accept it for a solid 30 seconds. Then, there's horror that sinks into your bones and makes your stomach turn. There's some sort of primal, lizard-brain fury mixed in — and perhaps you even fantasize over retaliating with things you didn't fancy yourself capable of. There's soul-crushing sorrow as you recall there's nothing you can do to help stop this, and all you can do is bear witness to this atrocity, then pathetically report it after the fact. The video automatically unmutes. The sounds are the worst part. If you've ever seen the brick video, this audio is similar in that it haunts you forever. It's overwhelming. You cycle between these emotions so quickly that they blend into each other, and become greater than the sum of their parts. It's a nuclear bomb set off inside your skull. You want to cry, punch a wall, and throw up. You do none of those things because you are too stunned to function. And then suddenly, there's numbness. Like a switch has turned off all the feelings in your brain. All of the unspeakable things you were feeling are gone in an instant.

Maybe you're a tougher nut to crack. Maybe the switch doesn't flip for you on the first video. So you let those emotions ride out until they've physically exhausted you. You pace and you marinate in the aftermath, feeling like you need to vent but knowing you can't. You can't even summarize what you saw without painting a picture so disturbing that it'll fuck up whoever is kind enough to listen to you. All you can do is turn to a loved one, explain that you saw something earth-shatteringly upsetting, and hope they can distract you. Maybe they express sympathy and give their best effort. Maybe you give your own best effort. Maybe you drink or use substances to get away from it, but it still festers in the back of your mind the entire time.

But that switch will flip for you, eventually. And when it does, it'll have you shitting bricks. It's like a hurricane stopping, only for you to realize you're in the eye. One moment you're feeling physically ill from the strength of your own negative emotions — the next, you can't feel anything. Your head feels different. Clearer, more room for thought. But then you move on to the next video, and the fresh horrors do nothing to you. And that's when the gravity of emotional dissociation sinks in. You can't feel anything. You could cut a man's throat and it would feel the same as tying your shoe. You have tapped into something that feels ancient. It's like you've regressed into a lower evolutionary life form incapable of emotion. Below cavemen. Humans aren't meant to experience something like this. It's the cold, unthinking indifference of a creature which could eat its own young without blinking.

But you use it for good. You use it to function when you otherwise can't, and overcome the task at hand. And it helps you tremendously as a content moderator. Eventually, you get so good at it that you can turn your emotions off at will, and do it before you even view your first video of the day.

It does not help you once you're done. While the metaphorical emotion switch can be turned off at will, turning it back on is a chore. It usually takes a while to wear off. Maybe an hour or two once you're done. But the more you do it, the harder it is to break out of it.

Imagine going back to your normal life while you're stuck in that mindset. You try to watch TV or play video games and none of it brings you any joy — like the worst, most suffocating depression. Except it isn't depression, and you have the will, the energy, and the definite need for something to take your mind off what you've seen, but nothing changes that listless straightjacket your brain is stuck in. There should be dread and panic taking root, because the accompanying thoughts are there. Is this your new normal? Will you ever feel anything again? But there is neither dread nor panic, because your body won't allow you to feel them. Not even chemical alteration gets it back on track, and it's only after you've nursed away the hangover the next morning that you can kindle a tiny spark of emotion, again. And through the searing headache, you wonder if fighting the good fight is truly worth the possibility of being stuck without feelings forever.

All of this to say, repeated CSAM exposure is anthrax. It makes you sick in ways you didn't even know were possible, and if you survive it, the experience will follow you forever. You're also not going to talk about it in public. Even vague descriptions of it are enough to seriously traumatize those who encounter it. It feels like a public safety hazard to talk about. Trigger warnings are not enough. A proper description would warrant a fucking consent form. That's something your therapist has to coax out of you like you're a Vietnam vet with war trauma.

What you DON'T do is repost it. Even if it's to argue or express anger/disgust. You don't scroll the tags looking for it, either. No one in their right fucking mind treats actual CSAM the way antis treat "cp" and that's what infuriates me the most about them. They water down the term the same way kids water down "gaslighting."

Drawings of fictional characters are not CSAM. If you can describe it publicly, if you can repost or respond to it and use it for rage bait, then it isn't CSAM. The people who do this are, very obviously, not experiencing any of the trauma which is involved with viewing real CSAM. They are acting on disgust impulses, and then they have the audacity to imply that their discomfort is tantamount to experiencing some of the most traumatizing material a person can view.

It isn't CSAM. They know that it isn't CSAM. Every sane, socialized human adult knows that it isn't CSAM and I'm exhausted with acting like it isn't incredibly offensive to call it that.

[dracula-dictionary]

Dracula Dictionary, August 1st - Addendum

"It be all fool-talk, lock, stock, and barrel; that's what it be, an' nowt else. These bans an' wafts an' boh-ghosts an' barguests an' bogles an' all anent them is only fit to set bairns an' dizzy women a-belderin'. They be nowt but air-blebs. They, an' all grims an' signs an' warnin's, be all invented by parsons an' illsome beuk-bodies an' railway touters to skeer an' scunner hafflin's, an' to get folks to do somethin' that they don't other incline to. It makes me ireful to think o' them. Why, it's them that, not content with printin' lies on paper an' preachin' them out of pulpits, does want to be cuttin' them on the tombstones. Look here all around you in what airt ye will; all them steans, holdin' up their heads as well as they can out of their pride, is acant—simply tumblin' down with the weight o' the lies wrote on them, 'Here lies the body' or 'Sacred to the memory' wrote on all of them, an' yet in nigh half of them there bean't no bodies at all; an' the memories of them bean't cared a pinch of snuff about, much less sacred. Lies all of them, nothin' but lies of one kind or another! My gog, but it'll be a quare scowderment at the Day of Judgment when they come tumblin' up in their death-sarks, all jouped together an' tryin' to drag their tombsteans with them to prove how good they was; some of them trimmlin' and ditherin', with their hands that dozzened an' slippy from lyin' in the sea that they can't even keep their grup o' them.":

It's nonsense, all of it; that's what it is and nothing else. These curses and spirits and ghosts and bogie-men and the the like are only fit to make children and dizzy women cry. They're nothing but illusions. They, and all the scary signs and warnings were invented by priests, and mean-spirited academics, and highwaymen to scare and confuse halfwits, and to get people to do things that they otherwise wouldn't have. It makes me angry to think about them. They're the ones who aren't happy just printing lies on paper and preaching them from their altars, so they have to cut them into tombstones as well. Look in whatever direction you want; all these stones trying to hold their heads up out of pride - they should all be falling over under the weight of the lies that are written on them. "Here lies the body" or "Sacred to the memory" written on all of them, even though half of them don't even have a body under them; and their memory is worth about as much a pinch of snuff, it's certainly not sacred to anyone. All of it is lies, nothing but lies one way or another! My god, it’ll be a strange pushing and shoving at the Day of Judgment when they come tumbling up here in their shrouds, all jumbled together and trying to drag their tombstones with them to prove how good they were in life; some of them will be trembling and frail, with their hands so numb and slippery from lying in the sea that they can't even keep their grip on them.

"Yabblins! There may be a poorish few not wrong, savin' where they make out the people too good; for there be folk that do think a balm-bowl be like the sea, if only it be their own. The whole thing be only lies. Now look you here; you come here a stranger, an' you see this kirk-garth." I nodded, for I thought it better to assent, though I did not quite understand his dialect. I knew it had something to do with the church. He went on: "And you consate that all these steans be aboon folk that be happed here, snod an' snog?" I assented again. "Then that be just where the lie comes in. Why, there be scores of these lay-beds that be toom as old Dun's 'bacca-box on Friday night." He nudged one of his companions, and they all laughed. "And my gog! how could they be otherwise? Look at that one, the aftest abaft the bier-bank: read it!":

Perhaps! A few of them might not be wrong, except for those parts where people are being praised too much; because there are people who mistake a chamber-pot for the sea, as long as it's their own. Now look here, you came here as a stranger and you see this churchyard. Do you believe that all these stones are standing above people that are burried here? That is where the lies start. Many of these graves are as empty as old Dun's tobacco box on a friday night. And my god, how else could it be? Look at that one, the first one behind the bench: read it!"

"Who brought him home, I wonder, to hap him here? Murdered off the coast of Andres! an' you consated his body lay under! Why, I could name ye a dozen whose bones lie in the Greenland seas above"—he pointed northwards—"or where the currents may have drifted them. There be the steans around ye. Ye can, with your young eyes, read the small-print of the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey—I knew his father, lost in the Lively off Greenland in '20; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned off Cape Farewell a year later; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of Finland in '50. Do ye think that all these men will have to make a rush to Whitby when the trumpet sounds? I have me antherums aboot it! I tell ye that when they got here they'd be jommlin' an' jostlin' one another that way that it 'ud be like a fight up on the ice in the old days, when we'd be at one another from daylight to dark, an' tryin' to tie up our cuts by the light of the aurora borealis.":

Who brought him back home to burry him here, I wonder? Murdered off the coast of Andres! And you really believe his body is buried here! I could name a dozen people whose bones lie in the sea of Greenland up north, or wherever the currents have taken them. Theirs are the headstones around us. With your young eyes you can read the lies from here. This Braithwaite Lowrey - I knew his father, used to serve on the Lively, lost off the coast of Greenland in 1820; or Andrew Woodhouse, drowned in the same seas in 1777; or John Paxton, drowned by Cape Farewell a year later; or old John Rawlings, whose grandfather sailed with me, drowned in the Gulf of Finland in 1850. Do you think all of them will be rushing back to Whitby when the trumpet sounds for Judgement Day? I have my doubts about it! If they did all come here they would pushing and shoving each other in such a way that it would look like one of the fights on the ice back in the old days, when we were at each other's throats from dawn to dusk, and trying to bandage our wound by the light of the aurora borealis.

"Well, what else be they tombstones for? Answer me that, miss! How will it pleasure their relatives to know that lies is wrote over them, and that everybody in the place knows that they be lies?" He pointed to a stone at our feet which had been laid down as a slab, on which the seat was rested, close to the edge of the cliff. "Read the lies on that thruff-stean":

Well, what else would the tombstones be for? Answer me that, miss! How would it please their relatives to know that there are lies written about them, and that everybody here knows that they're lies? Read the lies on that gravestone.

"Ye don't see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that's because ye don't gawm the sorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he was acrewk'd—a regular lamiter he was—an' he hated her so that he committed suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she put on his life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musket that they had for scarin' the crows with. 'Twarn't for crows then, for it brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way he fell off the rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I've often heard him say masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for his mother was so pious that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he didn't want to addle where she was. Now isn't that stean at any rate"—he hammered it with his stick as he spoke—"a pack of lies? and won't it make Gabriel keckle when Geordie comes pantin' up the grees with the tombstean balanced on his hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!":

You don't see anything funny! Ha ha! But that's because you don't know that the sorrowing mother was a malicious woman with a fierce temper who hated him because he was a cripple, and he hated her so he commited suicide so she wouldn't get any of his life insurance. He blew off the top of his head with an old musket they had for scaring off the crows. It didn't scare the crows off then, because it brought the flies and the crows to him. That's how he fell off the rocks. And as far as the hopes of a glorious resurrection go, I often heard him say myself that he hoped he'd go to hell, because his mother was so devout that she would definitely go to heaven, and he didn't want to end up where she was. Now isn't this gravestone a pack of lies? And won't it make the archangel Gabriel cackle when George comes hobbling up the stairway to heaven with the tombstone on his back and asks it to be taken as evidence!

"That won't harm ye, my pretty; an' it may make poor Geordie gladsome to have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt ye. Why, I've sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it hasn't done me no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under ye, or that doesn' lie there either! It'll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see the tombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as a stubble-field. There's the clock, an' I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!":

That won't harm you, my pretty; and it might make poor George happy to have such a fine girl sitting on his lap. That won't hurt you. I've been sitting here occasionally for almost the last twenty years, and it hasn't done me any harm. Don't worry about who lies under you, or who doesn't lie there! It will be time for you to get scared when you see all the gravestones run away and this place is as empty as a field after the harvest. That was the clock ringing, and I must be going. Nice talking to you, ladies!

[pinkrangersarah]

Fin: I thought you were our Unofficial Science Officer? Barba: That just means I'm smart. If you want me to multiply two big numbers in my head, that I can do, but I can't measure radio signals with no equipment! Amaro: What's thirty-two times fifty-six? Barba: Three thousand, four hundred and fifty-two. Fin: Is that right? Barba: Yes.

[order-of-the-black-crescent-moon]

Dictionary

List of all the terms and names used in the transcripts

*This post will be consistently updated over time

Xiaris - Goddess of the black crescent moon and hidden secrets. Known for being in the shadows and having 2 core halves, a lighter and a darker side. Also represents plurality

(plurality in terms of like, those who were forced into it and deal with the full experience, theres debate on whether or not someone can be born with it and we are not delving into that here, she’s here for all of us regardless of who you are. I will make a separate post on it later on)

Hidden Creatures - early spiritual predecessors of humans, they carry no light in their souls. Some of these creatures caught the fragments from Xiaris and traversed into the physical realm and became human. Talking to these spiritual beings is discouraged as they all have a distaste for Xiaris and light beings

Orb of Hope - The orb that Xiaris tossed into the sky, creating the Moon.

Polyhuman - Xiran term for system. Used in the stories of Xiaris and her life, avoid using it to describe actual systems please!

Xiran - a person who practices the Xiran Monotheism (another name for our order)

[morningstargirl666]

Me: [uses the word "debonair" perfectly in a sentence, knowing it's the right word for the job]

Me, ten seconds later: [searches up "debonair" in the dictionary because I don't have a fucking clue what it actually means]

[mcneyhoney]

(:

[ghostlycorvud]

So for side order we've got eight and eight (german version)

[sorinesauce]

just saw on the internet that people are saying hugh dancy experinence twink death

TWINK DEATH? TWINK DEATH ?!? THAT MAN IS STILL A MINX AND YOU CAN SEE IT

im genuinely tweaking beacuse ppl rly think hes has more wrinkles thats hes not a pretty boy thats need royalty treament is beyond me

[swtechspecs]

SoroSuub Corporation Hush-98 Comlink

Source: Episode I Visual Dictionary (Dorling Kindersley, 1999)

[screambirdscreaming]

The thing about programming is that there's a level on which it feels like total wizard shit, like you're grappling with concepts directly on an abstract plane, splitting them apart and restructuring them into more elegant and fundamental forms, limited only by your own comprehension which you can practically feel expanding as you synthesize constructs and destroy them and remake them

But it is also, simultaneously, one hundred percent pedantic bullshit all the way down.

[finaliseur]

First Order starship crews operate in three crew sections per department. Each standard day is divided into six four hour-long shifts, with each shift consisting of a designated team. This consistency creates a cooperative environment that fosters a sense of team camaraderie and unity. The immense innerworkings of a star destroyer require constant diligence for smooth performance. The ever mobile vessel requires 24-operation; hence the grave importance of smooth shift transitions. The four hour break-down was designed to omit burn out and keep the staff energized for full attentiveness and maximum efficiency. This, unfortunately does not always apply to commanding officers who often work extended shifts to ensure their department's success, especially during battles or times of crisis. Each department has its own commanding officers, followed by section and shift leads.

With a significantly smaller staff than it's predecessor, The Galactic Empire, the First Order relies heavily on the collaborative environment of each ship to ensure functionality. This synergetic culture is what sets the First Order apart from the Empire. For the sake of the organization's growth and survival, it was imperative that a strong sense of loyalty and companionship was instilled into the new generation at a young age. This tactic was implemented into the training and upbringing of both officers and stormtroopers. Yet, it does not account for the many of the older generation who are still accustom to the competitive environment of the empire.

[g4zdtechtv]

THE PILE PRESENTS: X-Play - Odin's Looking Spherical | 6/18/07

What a pain in my Phantom Hourglass.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

interestingly the only mention i can find of a monastery loquarium is (rendered "loquorium") in "the california padres and their mission" by charles francis saunders and joseph smeaton chase, a book in the public domain:

The Mission relics at Santa Inés are many and interesting. Besides those used in the present-day church services, and the beautiful old vestments that are in the sacristy, there is a considerable collection arranged for interested visitors in an interior room of the convento — a room formerly used as the loquorium, where daily, after dinner and after supper, the friars were at liberty to come to rest for an hour from their laboring and praying, and relax in human chat.

the next paragraph also mentions this room now housing relics "patiently got together from all sorts of places," including "from the earth of the surrounding fields as the plough turns it up"

[waugh-bao]