What happened to camp? (Part 2)

The egotist in me wants to create my own word. I want something I can
stand back from and say ‘I thought of that! That’s my word! My own
invented catchphrase.’

I have, however, found a phrase elsewhere that
fits perfectly. (So I’ll have to be content with having invented
gruesome euphemisms like ‘courtesy fingers’ and ‘bachelor’s

The word I’ve chosen comes from The Simpsons, the writers of which have
an innate understanding of overblown folly, undelivered promise and
excruciating enthusiasm. How else would they have conceived Streetcar!
and Planet of the Apes: the Musical, the unembarrassable Troy Maclure,
and theme parks based on beer and jesus.

So, from now on, these musings on all things camp, wrong, ridiculous
and unfeasibly stupid, shall be grouped under one title; Bart Simpson’s
description of the mess his father created with Christmas lights: