I seem to have a split personality when it comes to swearing. I swear in my writing a lot. I swear in my head a lot. But whenever I’m in front of people, I don’t swear unless it’s the necessary part of a joke I’m telling. Even then, when I utter the curse word, it comes out with a bit of a childish, embarrassed emphasis on it, sort of whispering the word as if I’m somehow disappointing my parents, even though they’re far out of earshot.
"I'm afraid you've let down your country, Mr. Arnold." |
Whew!
His swearing isn’t mean-spirited, either - it just is. (Hey, there you are, Zen!)
"Fuckin' ohmmmm" |
There was something freeing and joyous about it, swinging on the swing-set and yelling out swear words at the top of our lungs. It was energizing, invigorating – we were in the moment, one with the universe. (Okay, maybe this is a little bit about Zen.)
Eventually his mom heard us, and I’m guessing he got in trouble (he was called into his house with a stern voice, at the very least.)
"I'm sending you to military school. At least they don't curse there!" |
So the lesson here is if you’re ever feeling down and out, go somewhere safe – preferably where no one can hear you – and swear at the top of your lungs. An abandoned quarry works well (great echo effect!) as does the inside of your car. Just make sure it’s done with joy – not anger – and I bet you’ll feel better in no time at all.
And if for some reason you’re arrested for disorderly conduct or causing a public nuisance – you didn’t hear it from me, fuckos!
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