I hereby sentence persnickety to death, effective immediately. It sounds like it's from the 1930s, which, while it was "only" 70 years ago, given the speed at which culture has orgasmed outward since the 1940s, is more like 120 years ago. While as, metal, and she are older by far than this 19th century Scots-originated word of mysterious origin, their acoustic resonance has kept pace with the times. They wear tennis shoes and t-shirts, even sunglasses, weather permitting. Persnickety still jaunts around in a depressingly ill-mended Dust Bowl denim dress, sadly bereft of its Technicolor. And persnickety is offensively proud of that. It must die, so we can move on with our lives and describe persnickety people as fussy or damn fools or, perhaps most appropriately in our legally mumbo-jumbo'd world, detail-oriented. That is all.