"It's kind of hard to describe Metamuville," I said, twirling my tawny, hoping this gesture made me look thoughtful and sophisticated and not, as was the case, bumbling and inarticulate. And so I told her about Percy. About the old white farts with an overdeveloped sense of entitlement (OWFOSE). About the ruling geriatric clique. About the OWFOSEs who, after I pass them legally, have thrice followed me home to berate my dangerousness.
"So in Metamuville, the old farts shake their fists and yell at you to get off your lawn?"
That must be what being articulate is like.