(AKA “In Retrospect, I Guess I Should Have Made This My First Post.”)
by Joe Buonfiglio
Based on the reaction to my inaugural post in this blog, I feel compelled to caution you right out of the gate. Later on in this literary rape of my Muse, I use the reviled, the feared, the dreaded “C-word.” I will not be replacing it with “vagina” or “love purse” or some cutesy reference to a housecat sitting on your lap. I will also potentially drop a few “F-Bombs,” any number of double-entendres for biblical references, scatological nomenclature, maybe a flatulence or pee-pee joke here and there, and almost certainly something involving the anus of a woodland creature. I don’t know for sure. I don’t plan that far ahead.
What I do know for certain is that so-called “foul” language is a-comin’, my friends. So if such things wound your fragile sensibilities, put your fight-or-flight instincts into “run” mode, or otherwise cause you to rock back and forth in a fetal position while spontaneously evacuating your bowels; this would be a good point at which to abandon ship and head over to one of many Disneyesque choices available to you on the World Wide Web.
And so to quote my favorite Batman villain, here … we … go.
There now; that wasn’t so bad, was it? The world didn’t fly off its axis, the polar ice caps didn’t melt (And no, my ribald nature can’t be blamed for Global Climate Change) and civilization didn’t collapse into a maelstrom of malfeasance (No, that’s not my fault either). And guess what? Here on my end, no lightning-javelin throw by the Hand of God ripped through the ceiling of my office to tear me in two in a supernatural display making The Texas Chainsaw Massacre seem as if Pippi Longstocking.
Uh-oh. Hold on.
Nope. Didn’t happen.
Hell, with all the Big Guy in the Sky has seen his obscene progeny manifest into reality over the centuries, I’m fairly certain He’s let loose with a string of expletives every now and then. I mean if He didn’t, He wouldn’t be human.
Okay, point taken.
Look, I know it has been said by both scholars and dumbshits alike that working “blue” in the metaphoric room of your life — having to resort to “bad” words to make your point — is the sign of a weak mind. But if you’ll pardon the obvious pun, I call bullshit on that. “Bad” words aren’t the product of a weak mind. Being afraid of words to the point of believing they’re “bad” indicates an Intelligence Quotient deficiency.
Let’s face it; I need to come off my high horse and just be honest. I sometimes often almost always I fucking LOVE so-called “bad” words. I love ‘em! They cut to the chase with absolute clarity. “Excuse me, officer, but I believe you are mistaken about what I’m smoking this evening and would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t impound my vehicle and introduce me to the county-level penal system” just doesn’t have the same impact as “Blow me, cop! And while you’re at it, shove your fucking siren up your ass. It’s motherfucking ‘medical’ marijuana. Here’s my prescription. It’s great shit, too. I’d share if you weren’t being such a Buford T. Justice asshole; not to mention I’m too busy pissing on your tires at this moment to roll you one.”
See? No comparison, right?
I’m just not going to self-censor. Not happening. It’s bad enough that editors impose it upon me. I’m sure as hell not going to do it to myself. So worrying about it is as useless as farting the alphabet to impress the Polly Purebred candidate sitting across from you at a Christian Mingle speed-dating session.
So let me see; did I leave anything out? F-bomb; check. Hell and damn; check. Shit; check. Fart and piss; check. What am I missing?
Oh, so why is it that if an American comedian uses the word “cunt” in his routine, he or she is considered a vulgar abomination deserving to be cast into the Lake of Fire for all eternity. But if an English comic says “cunt” in that great British accent, it’s funny as hell. Think I’m full of crap? Watch a Sarah Silverman standup special, and then watch a Ricky Gervais standup routine. Case closed.
Am I forgetting to deliver on a vulgarity promise here? I can’t think of anything.
Oh well, I’ve got to get back to shoving this birthday cake up this raccoon’s ass; but you have a nice day.
What? I took the candles out. I’m not inhuman.
© 2014 Joseph P. Buonfiglio