Conglomerate. Even the word sounds sinister, like it might throw a burlap sack over your head and bungle you into the back of a blacked out minivan, then pop you in the temple with a silenced pistol and throw your corpse out in the street in front of your mother’s house. Whether it’s the militaristic association of the glottal “cong”, or the overcast bleakness of the central “glom”, from start to finish the whole deal exudes a menacing kind of energy. Of all the words that I know, which is literally dozens, “conglomerate” is the one that seems the most up to no good. If I had a son and I wanted him to grow up bad, I would name him James Conglomerate and only let him watch business news.
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