Chemo 4 Emo: Modern Solutions for Hipster Inadequacy Complexes

Squamous Scene Emonomas

Their rates have been increasing locally, possibly as a result of decreased exposure to rational upbringing, a broad global perspective, the arts, and pretty much, reality. Primary Care Pungalords can expect to diagnose six to seven cases per semester and one to two cases of Squamous Scene Rejectus each year. Attitudes may be plaque-like or nodular in a waxy, translucent manner, often with ulceric smarminess.

The upshot is that sufferers can be treated with Ego Excision, Emotherapy, Electrodesiccation, Proto-Dread Removal, or Pungedynamic Therapy (the latter is not approved for this purpose by the USDA), although pungeoning does result in the fewest recurrences.
Vapourous Meta-Excuses are amenable to any of the destructive techniques described above, with the exception of PdT.
Burned-Out Scene Personae arise from Scabid Dumpster Patches and Ego Ennui and become more erythematous with growth, sometimes resulting in Emo-Hypersensitivity, Gutter Slumming, Terminal Bourgeoisphobia, and Social Ulceration. Because Brooding Self-Dissatisfaction may again metastasise, sufferers often are treated with Excisional Psyopsy.

It’s really not as bad as one might anticipate. Most chemo patients say the worst thing was losing their taste. [“Like that of rancid wallpaper.”]

That should not be a problem here.

I ddeall y plentyn: To vault the Mending Wall or a descending pall?

It was sometime in the midst of the first stratum, in a portable outbuilding acting as a makeshift classroom. Class was not yet fully assembled and young scholars milled about in the bright morning.
Masters Capone and Stoddard stood in the back, listening intently to the agitated neophyte, Master Streeter. He had a smaller frame than his schoolmates, an anaemic hue, and tousled hair of ash topping his noggin.

“What is it, mate? What’s troubling you?” the two lads asked young Streeter. The boy’s slate-blue eyes had welled up, puffy underneath. His keening hung in the air like that of a forlorn calf. High-pitched blubbering interspersed with a mish-mash of words — all of it impenetrable.

He wasn’t getting through.

“Tell us what’s wrong, man.” Capone and Stoddard wondered if this impasse wasn’t exacerbating his distress.
He continued to weep, and by week’s end, Master Streeter was gone from the classroom.

Domestic issues? Emotional issues? A combination thereof?
Communicating across the globe is much taken for granted in this day.
But what about the little boy at your feet sobbing because he cannot connect?

“I have striven not to laugh at human actions, not to weep at them, nor to hate them, but to understand them.” — Spinoza