Terrif

Liz Lemon of 30 Rock fame.

“Now that? THAT is terrif.”

Terrific, a word that conjurs images of gout-faced aristocrats giving the thumbs up as their purebred horse races across the finish line, has been shorn of its winter fur, pumped full of triple-shot lattes, and is single’n’ready to mingle. It’s terrif.

On the totes-ridic scale of enthusiastic OMG-ness, terrif isn’t quite up there with amazeballs or brill, but dwells somewhere in the hinterland above marv. It’s what you might say if, for example, your friend received a promotion at a shit-hot media startup while you were unemployed and surviving on ramen noodles. “Wow, that’s terrif.” You’re happy for them, but it’s the resentful kind of happy. You’re only human, after all.

“You’re giving up your job to retrain as a massage therapist? That’s, um, terrif.”

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