Mrs Scary has had words with me about my swearing. Even “titty biscuits” is apparantly too near the knuckle to be said in front of the ducklings, even if Scaryduck Jr is now using it on a regular basis. However, the word “poop” has replaced “poo” in our family’s everyday usage. I’ve always prided myself on my extensive vocabulary of sweariness, and have been more than a passing scholar of the infamous Viz Profanisaurus, the publication of choice for the committed cuss-merchant.
I’ve heard it said that if you need to resort to profanity, you are showing those around you that you have a limited vocabulary. My response to this is “What a load of hairy-arsed bollocks”. Did the Bard of Stratford, William Shakespeare himself not write “To be or not to be, that’s one goat-fucker of a question”? Did the celebrated wit Oscar Wilde not say “I have nothing to declare excpet my bastard flange-baiting genius?” I rest my case.
Yet, somehow, I feel strangely unsatisfied. Despite the huge positive difference the words “bollocks”, “wanker” and “flange basket” have made to my life, it has become my eternal quest for ever more interesting, amusing and offensive swear words. You can say “fuck” until the cows come home (and believe me, I do), but there’s nothing more satisfying than shocking a maiden aunt with judicious use of “arse cakes” or “goat’s quim!”.
I understand that certain people pay good money for this kind of filth, usually at premium phone rates, so reader, dear reader, open the Speak Your Brains section and Talk Dirty To Me. You know you want to.
Best. Sports. Headline. Ever.