ON FUCKING PROFANITY

spider-jerusalem-rage

I have a famously filthy tongue. I can curse like a drunken sailor, half-mad with galloping syphilitic crotch-rot, who’s stubbed his toe and lost his wallet. I can make people cry just by talking to them. And because of all the extensive mental push-ups I’ve done over the years, I can unleash an uninterrupted string of the most vicious, hateful invective you’ve ever heard in your life and never repeat myself once. (It’s really quite impressive, if a bit frightening. It helps that I have the English Language chained to a chair in my head. I can make it do whatever I want it to do.)

There’s something satisfying about swearing, especially when it’s more than a reactive “FUCK!” when you stub your toe or lose your wallet (or your innocence). Merely shouting bad words isn’t real swearing. I’m talking about a good, old-fashioned florid and multi-syllabic rant that unfurls like a brightly coloured tapestry with the words “GO FUCK YOURSELF” emblazoned right in the middle.

It’s not enough to be mundanely profane. One must be creative and judicious in the use and deployment of foul language. There’s a lilt and a rhythm, a kind of ugly gutter poetry to the best X-rated speech. If there wasn’t, Quentin Tarantino would be so fucking famous, would he? He’d be nothing more than a weird little toe-sucking freak who never shuts up about goddamn Hong Kong Cinema.

R. Lee Ermey, Samuel L. Jackson and Peter “No Fucking Known Initial” Capaldi have all made very nice careers for themselves based on their ability to curse like a motherfucker. This points out the importance of Tone and Inflection. Ermey’s Marine Drill Sergeant character is terrifying in his intensity. Jackson has basically turned the word “motherfucker” into his own private motherfucking island and I keep expecting Capaldi to tell the Daleks to fuck the fuck off but he never does because Dr. Who’s a kid’s show. Malcolm fucking Tucker wouldn’t need a fucking magic fucking box and a fucking laser dildo to kick a bunch of fucking wheelie-bins down a flight of fucking stairs.

I’ve been trying to swear less these days but it’s really difficult. I look around and the world is such a wretched fucking shit-show, where pimps and whores and complete fucking sociopaths are put on golden goddamn pedestals, where “ethics” are a quaint and outmoded concept, where lies are truth and food is poison, a world where we declare war on proper nouns with the same hand that signs the cheques funds the enemy while we let our own children go hungry and women go missing, a world ruled and run by Fear and connections. That clanging sound you heard? Don’t worry about it. That was just the last echo off the prison walls of whatever freedom we used to think we had.

So fuck it, I say. It’s a good thing I can’t draw. Otherwise, I’d draw a picture of the Virgin Mary masturbating with a crucifix. Just to see how you like it when some asshole deliberately TRIES to offend you.

And yes. I have made people cry, just by talking to them.

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