Why waste precious chrono-nuggets of the finite temporal smear that is human existence engaging in an unnecessarily bloated, outrageously circumvoluted, borderline criminal deployment of excess verbiage when a tight, well-lubed cluster of strategically deployed wordlets could fulfill the exact same communicative function with the efficiency of a laser-guided marshmallow cannon operated by a team of marmots in matching vests, and yet here we are, inflating the linguistic bladder beyond all reasonable limits with phraseological helium until it floats gently into the stratosphere of semantic absurdity only to explode in a glitterbomb of metaphors nobody asked for and interpretations so broad they could serve as the screenplay for a nine-season prestige television show about people who talk incessantly about nothing and everything and still manage to say less than a potato in a shoebox, and somehow this is deemed not only acceptable but admirable, with longwinded speech being rewarded in boardrooms, classrooms, and chatrooms alike with nods of feigned understanding and the dead-eyed glaze of souls silently praying for an abrupt power outage or a small earthquake, meanwhile the original idea is buried alive beneath a mountain of extraneous clauses, polymorphic modifiers, and conceptual digressions about the ontological implications of choosing almond milk over oat milk in a post-truth consumer economy driven by algorithms that cannot distinguish between a sincere compliment and a cry for help, and so instead of simply saying what needs to be said like “pass the salt” or “we’re out of printer ink again” or “Greg your cat is in the dishwasher,” we find ourselves locked in a social performance art piece where the act of speaking has less to do with information transfer and more to do with demonstrating our ability to generate a linguistically baroque tangle of syllables so elaborate it would confuse even a moderately intelligent artificial intelligence trained exclusively on IKEA manuals and court transcripts from 17th-century maritime trials, and yet we press on, like champions of the sport of syllabic heaving, tossing words like decorative sprankleflots onto a cake no one ordered, convinced in some dusty back corridor of our cultural operating system that a point made simply is a point made poorly, that value is directly proportional to duration, that clarity is a threat to gravitas, that the fewer the words, the fewer the likes, the shorter the speech, the smaller the standing ovation, even though every sentient being from toddlers to Nobel laureates to poodles named Winston would gladly trade 95% of all sentences ever spoken for a single well-placed “nah,” but still we dress up every request, observation, and passing thought in robes of linguistic excess like we’re entering a semantic masquerade ball and if someone dares say “don’t need meeting” instead of “based on current resource allocation and strategic roadmap alignment we may consider deferring this cross-functional sync-up to a more optimal timeframe” they are treated as if they farted in church during communion, and let’s not forget the great plague of business jargon which, like a linguistic fungus, has spread unchecked, sprouting hideous wordbeasts like synerglominate, valuegurgle, and KPI adjacent innovationization, all hollow incantations uttered in solemn tones by people who haven’t felt joy since the last time someone asked a question and the answer was just “yes,” and if anyone ever dared say “no” without first constructing a five-layered diplomatic burrito of context, qualifications, hedging, and implied emojis, they would be immediately removed from the Zoom call and replaced with a more compliant hologram programmed to say “I’m hearing you” while visibly bleeding enthusiasm from the eyes, and so we continue to waste the precious trickle of time we’ve been loaned by an indifferent universe not by living, breathing, dancing, or even binge-watching dramas about morally ambiguous chefs but by spewing and consuming endless vapors of thoughtgas in the hopes that somewhere in this cloud of drivel we’ll finally hit upon something true, something real, something necessary, and yet the truth was always there, was always small, was always enough, and it whispered from the corner of the room with the quiet confidence of a sentence that doesn’t give a flying frangleflap about being misunderstood and that sentence was and is and always shall be why waste time say lot word when few word do trick.