Does anyone besides me think “awesome” has run its course as an automatic adjectival response to virtually any statement — from “cheese is fun to eat” to “Hey, didja see where the sun exploded?”

I make this assertion despite the fact that I say “awesome” about 90 times a day and indeed cannot control the impulse to do so. “Awesome” is like an ill-behaved dog in my brain who instinctively bounds, howling, every time a postal employee comes to the door of my mind.

So I'm not being lofty about this. I speak from a position of pathetic self-recrimination.

“Dude” and any derivation of “brother” are also up there in the “we don't need these anymore” category.

Also: “hottie,” “wicked,” “word,” “no worries” and various other terms that should have outlived their usefulness but somehow stick around ...

Who thinks of these, anyway? Why is one word more likely to gain popularity as a societal catchphrase than another? Is there some sort of colloquial patent office, presided over by a linguistic Prince of Darkness, who decides yea or nay on whether a word will make it into the riverine flow of daily conversation?

APPLICANT: “Hello, Prince of Darkness. I've got a word, here, that I think would be interesting as an alternative to 'awesome.' How about ... 'sizzlin'.' As in, you'd say, 'I just got a date with Katherine Heigl,' and I'd respond, 'Sizzlin'!' I think it could really catch on.”

PRINCE OF DARKNESS: “That's stupid. Begone!”

APPLICANT: “Cool.”

Speaking of which, “cool” is without a doubt the longest-running hipster expression ever — and it seems to transcend generations and racial and socioeconomic boundaries. “Cool,” Alfred North Whitehead gurgled when Bertrand Russell approached him and suggested they collaborate on “Principia Mathematica.”

Actually, that probably didn't happen since, by all accounts, “cool” in this context probably originated with jazz musician Miles Davis, who after all named one of his seminal albums “The Birth of Cool.”

What happened was that Davis and the immortal musicians on that session — including French hornist Gunther Schuller — did a run through of “Moon Dreams,” after which Davis exultantly pumped a fist and said, “Whaddya think?”

And Schuller said, “Actually, I thought it was quite tepid.”

“Exactly! We'll call the album 'Birth of Tepid!'”

“No, Miles, I meant the take sorta sucked. What we're actually trying to capture with this sound would me more like ... hmm ... how about 'cool'?”

Miles agreed and then smashed Schuller in the teeth with a flugelhorn.

It might have ended right there but the album came out and, before you know it, beatniks and poets were playing bongos in coffee houses and at hootenannies and saying stuff was “cool” like there was no tomorrow. The word also took on a negative context when Jack Kerouac threw up Mint Juleps on a first edition of “Finnegan's Wake” at the City Lights Bookstore and Lawrence Ferlinghetti said, “That's not cool!” and Kerouac kicked Ferlinghetti's teeth in with the very work boots he wore while driving across country in the “On the Road” period.

Later, Kerouac was asked if he regretted his outburst, and he replied, “Absolutely not. It was sizzlin'!”

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