Fucked on Fuck

It was commented to me that I perhaps use profane language too much in my blog posts- particularly in reference to the word “fuck”.

I admit it. Guilty as charged. What can I say? The world is a fucked up kind of place and so am I. Sometimes there’s really just the one way to actually refer to something. As in: “That’s fucked up!” Nuff said.

Besides, there are just so many colorful variations of this wonderful, but largely misunderstood superlative. I can be adapted to describe or convey just about every emmotion or situation known to mankind. To the linguistic world, the use of the word “fuck” is like baring witness to the blooming of a rare tropical flower. Its pedals unfurl outwards into the sentence structure with a beautiful delicate foulness.

Consider the possible options of this uniquely versatile word: fuckhead, fuckstick, fucktard, fuckwit, fuckwad, as well as my current favorite, fuck-a-doodle-doo. In any shape or form, the word “fuck” is going to immediately attract someone’s attention. And with my smattered diaper of literary works constantly laid bare within these web pages on a daily basis, it’s safe to say I want your attention...BAD!

All the greats of history probably did too! Consider the following:

Michangelo: "You want me to fucking paint where?"

Christopher Columbus: "Where the fuck are we?"

Gen. Custer: "Where the fuck did they come from?"

Albert Einstein: "Any fucktard could fucking get it!"

Neil Armstrong: "How in the fuck did we get here?"

It’s a “me” thing maybe. After all, I am nothing without my limited fucking lexicon, kay?

But okay, perhaps I am using the f-word a little too much. It doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m harboring any excess pent-up aggression, nor do I believe that I am exhibiting any signs of repressed anxiety. My ulcers are not bleeding out with imploded rage.

Maybe sometimes I just feel like using the word “fuck”.

So fuck off then (in the nicest way possible).