...and the horse you rode in on!

For those of you who know me in person or have followed this blog for any length of time, you know that I'm no stranger to George Carlin's 7 words you can't say on television. I guess, if we're going to be all "accurate" about it, I'd have to say that the 7 words and I are more like regular bedfellows.

For me, it all began at a young age. When I was two, my parents asked me if I wanted KFC, and I apparently replied, "Yeah, f*cking chicken!" My mom was horrified and wondered what kind of people she was leaving me with during the day. (Best part is that I probably learned it from her. "F*ck you and the horse you rode in on!" is one of her favorite expressions. Pretty sure she was dropping the F bomb at other times.)

Apparently cussing like a sailor means I can't be considered a lady. (And piss off to anyone who's laughing because they think there are LOTS of other reasons we wouldn't call me a lady. It is not unladylike to sit with my legs open while wearing a skirt and to belch with the force of a galloping herd.) I just don't see what the big damn deal is. They're words! Just words! We assign their value. If I wanted to, I could probably turn "sweetpea" into a bad word.

And let's face it, there are times where the F word is the only thing that provides adequate release. Like this morning, when some stupid chick who was paying absolutely no attention to the road tried to change lanes INTO MY CAR. I looked over at her as I was swerving away and the only response to her open-mouthed, idiotic stare was to say, "WHAT THE F*CK ARE YOU DOING???" Somehow I don't think, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" has quite the same effect or ring.

Or, like on Saturday, when the bottle of Vitamin Water rolled out of the shopping cart and onto my foot. "Well oh dear, that hurt a bit!" isn't the same as "Bitch shitf*cker asshat that hurt!"

So really, why do we care? What's the deal? I mean, yeah, it's a bit horrifying when kids flip you the bird or tell you screw yourself. But that's only because parents spend 13 years telling their kids not to do it and it sort of works. At least until middle school when kids learn more innovative phrases than their parents will ever know.

Perhaps we should focus instead on teaching time and place for all the fun words? Maybe if his parents had done that, Dick Cheney wouldn't have told Senator Leahy to go f*ck himself while in a public forum...