Froth: [frawth] a whipped presentation made from one part pointlessness, two parts wasted time, and a dash of insensitivity, all lightly beaten around the bush.
There’s good froth and there’s bad froth. Good froth comes immediately after the surprising revelation that the particular seminar you are attending is serving lattes, not just coffee. Thick, sultry caps of aerated milk adhere to the upper lip like a warm hug and, gazing out into the audience, the presenter’s eyes are met with a sea of luminescent, Cheshire cat-like white smiles. Such froth is the literal embodiment of love, plain and simple.
Bad froth, though lactose-free, is inflammatory. The curious result of longwinded expositions on irrelevant childhood events and the like, bad froth seems to churn up out of thin air. Such froth does not compare to a warm upper lip hug; it dribbles down from the corner of mouths in large, unsavory bubbles. See rabies; symptoms for pictures.
Bad froth was discovered accidentally during feudal times. Legend has it that a vassal, attempting to build rapport with an audience of serfs he was trying to motivate, insensitively recounted various memories from his childhood—the Christmases, the unfortunate stomach aches that followed venison hunts and the ensuing meat-binges, the drafty west towers of his father’s castle, etc. The poor serfs, having never tasted venison, deposed him and subsequently discovered tarring and feathering. Sadly, they failed to patent the process, missing out on millions of dollars in royalties.
The Takeaway: No matter how funny, no matter how endearing, no matter how wise: all information given in a presentation must serve the ultimate point, which should in turn benefit the audience. Audiences that feel their time has been wasted have a tendency to become unruly.
