In formal settings you’d call me Synthesist. On the street you’d call me jargonaut or poppy. If you’re one of those savants whose hard-won truths are being bastardized and lobotomized for powerful know-nothings interested only in market share, you might call me a mole or a chaperone. If you were Isaac Szpindel you’d call me commissar, and while the jibe would be a friendly one, it would also be more than that.
