It is big and it is clever.
Swearing. Saying a swear. Doing a swear.
Honestly, I BLOODY love swearing.
And not pathetic, not even swearing really, like BLOODY, but proper, proper swearing..like Fuck, Shit and the motherfucking daddy of them all…the Big C word. That old bastard C word.
I’m not sure if it’s an habitual thing or whether I’m breaking through the constraints of a conservative society and therefore enforcing my beliefs in freedom and our rights to be individuals without interference by some intangible authority that strives to silence us.
I think I probably just fucking well like it to be honest.
This weekend has been an orgy of swears.
I drove to Malvern with some friends for a relaxing weekend away. We left on Friday. On Thursday I bought a new GPS – a lovely new Garmin device. In my naivety I emailed my mates saying in a cheery manner “haha! I bought a new sat nav, it’s a Garmin and I keep singing that song…GUH GUH GUH GUHHHHH GARMIN! You know? Like that advert for Charmin toilet tissue?! LOL! LOLOLOL! I AM HILARIOUS! ANYWAY! EXCLAMATIONMARK! SEE YOU TOMORROW!!! ZOMG!!!”
I like to fuck with them a bit.
The GARMIN BASTARD first tried his dastardly method of “Why take half a mile when I can guide you there in 24 miles?” THEME when I picked my friend up on Friday morning. Luckily I know the way to her house so I disregarded the GPS’s barked orders to turn right at the junction, when I knew full well that the address I was heading for was literally 5 houses away. This should have been my warning that something was not quite right in the “mind” of Garmin. I had clearly entered a realm of insanity and a fearful dread of motorways and direct routes that no satellite navigation device should possess.
A journey followed. A long, long journey of weird detours and country lanes; A roads, B roads, C roads and dirt tracks. Occasional satnav speech defects resulted in a 3 times go around a roundabout while it shrieked “SHOCKENSHOT!!!” at us…until we realised it wanted us to head towards “Oxford”…
My swearing become colourful.
I started slowly. The road I was on a was a twit, a dick, a shit.
The next road was a fucking joke, a shit, a bugger.
The GPS was an arsehole, a fucker, a load of bollocks.
Eventually the entire world was populated by cunts and everyone I encountered was a fucking shit.
5 hours later we reached our destination, and I’ve got to say that I had pretty much excelled myself on the swearing front.
I have devised a pretty amazing way of swearing. It’s a combination of swears and tools. It really works:
This interesting juxtaposition of swears can be applied to many different oeuvres, and as my friends and I sat comfortably, bellies full of cider and pizza we really pushed the boat out, trying pretty much every combination of swear words with common objects we could think of. (Resulting in one of our group actually wandering around the house picking things up, examining them carefully and then seriously pronouncing “ArseCandle”)
I like the kitchen swears:
They all work…
Apart from gardening. Gardening is weirdly non sweary.
They’re just not right, somehow..
And so we moved on to words that sound like swears but aren’t..
Venting one’s spleen (see that sounds like a swear as well) can only ever be a positive thing and so I say, with a cheery smile, “Off you fuck! nothing more to see here, twatbadgers”