Random linguistic observation #137: in American English, depending on the tone, expression and posture with which it’s delivered, the word “yeah” can mean any of:
That is correct.
I approve.
I don’t care.
I am skeptical.
I wasn’t listening.
I agree to your proposal.
I require additional information.
I support you in this undertaking.
I didn’t tell you because I thought it was obvious.
I recognise the truth of your words, but fail to see their relevance.
If everything was legal for like twenty-four hours I’d start a communal garden.
This is barely even hyperbole.
I would legit start a communal garden with whoever wanted to join me.
I think that would be fucking dope.
Rewrite of The Purge where, for 24 hours, people hurriedly complete all those renovations and projects that the council forbids. Helen, leader of the PTA, laughs maniacally as she tears grass from her lawn with a pitchfork, her thirteen-year-old daughter Emily’s arms red with mud as she wades through the carnage, planting thyme. Jack and Mitch have left their friendly smiles behind at the RSL; today their faces show only grim determination as they methodically shovel gravel into potholes and pour bitumen. The local biker gang, gathered on the corner, are the most rambunctious of the mischief-makers, whooping and hollering as nail guns are driven into plywood, assembling miniature by-the-road shelters for the homeless to rest on cold nights. Their noise covers the sounds of Katy and Sam moving from street to street with their trolleys, picking up unsold or unwanted food from houses and restaurants to give to the hungry without fear of taxation or food safety reprisals. They’re young, and still scared of being caught.
But there’s no one to catch them. Not tonight.
…You know you live in a dystopian capitalist hellscape when….
Yogg-Sarongurt 