@spendius,
I have a hypothesis about acronyms being a psychoanalytical tool for becoming more sympathetic towards cyber persons. Getting to know them so to speak.
In my own case my acronyms betray an upbringing surrounded by jolly, fawning fatties who couldn't resist kissing me and saying what a lovely little lad I was. Well--I had won the Best Baby competition when I was but a mere 9 months into this incredible journey through what can only be described as a weary world of woe and wonder. The only photo I have of myself is the picture, and I was a picture too, that was the first prize in the competition. A large number of Mums had brought their pride and joys to the event and I fucked the lot off.
It was framed of course. The sponsor of the Best Baby competition was a noted photographer with aspirations. In other words I was used. Exploited. At that age. It was touched up in fairly soft focus of course in order to impress all the mums my mother would show it to. Plus 6 black and white postcard size reproductions in separate slip cases so that the photo itself doesn't get dog-eared from being passed around at various social events a lot.
I would be deputed to go to the butchers on Sat. mornings, it was a bike-ride away, with a list. It was embarrassing. I didn't at all feel as lovely a little lad as the ladies in the queue were making out.
Then there was the lingerie. Drying round the fire, fluttering on the washing line, hanging on the rack with various sheeny silky strappings hanging down all embroidered along the edges with stitches a lot more delicate than those the quack used to stitch up a wound in my leg. And all associated with the warm body of my Mother when I sat on her knee in the cold dark winter evenings by the fire drinking my Horlicks and listening to her read whatever she must have thought would improve me faster than the average improver.
What chance had I? And it is these childhood experiences, the "ration book" joke which was laughed at no matter how many times it was cracked when an up-skirt bottom warming at the fire on cold frosty days was in progress, that condition my thoughts when I approach an acronym unless it is one of those ending in "ly".
Then along comes, in the fullness of time, the seaside postcard and the peepshow on the pier. Then Benny Hill and Charlie Drake. Then to being unable to see the screen properly watching a Margaret Rutherford movie.
My acronyms are usually intended to amuse those who have taken a similar, if not quite as distinguished, a route as I have.
A fundamentalist man-hater doing acronyms would be interesting.
INHERITED
