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Tuesday, May 25, 2004
Like any fervent convert, I proselytize in favour of pure speech. I therefore beseech all and sundry to give up your diets of Fuck and Shit and return to the classic simplicity of O Corsican Pig.
I turned my back on cussing and am prepared to make you do the same. Because swearing harms public morals, unborn foetuses might not be born except as divorcing homosexual vegan feminists.
Don't think I am preaching against a vice I have not known. I have credentials. I am a former swearer.
As a Catholic schoolgirl I tormented myself by trying not to think of the word Darn which began to sneak into my eight-year-old mind circa 1982, soon after I learned how to speak.
In times past, superstition had it that evil could not harm one unless one invited it into one's abode. Once I regularly starting thinking the word Darn, other words showed up. The school forbade Hell and Damn: the jolly viscera of heaven demanded our attention. But Hell and Darn were the bad kids, enticing me over with the glamour of cigarettes behind the tire swing.
It took a few years until I finally got to Shit, Holy Shit, and then, after a circuitous route via Fuck, Cunt, Bitch, Bastard and Asshole, I made it to Holy Sheep Shit1.
Maturity came at a price. After cursing my friends to the depravations of a g** t****** l****, I found myself alone in back alleys swigging whiskey from paper bags. I vowed that if I ever rearranged my life into a purity as clean as bleached diapers, I would never again cuss.
I am now a strictly Scheiße kind of girl, though I often like to explete my mother's invention, "Căca m-aşi pe nasu lui" (I shit on his nose).
I urge you to do the same, in the name of societal mores. Be a pillar of society and use a Căcat where a Shit might sully delicate ears.
1My cousin Cat (not Stevens)originated this phrase.
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