A virtuoso in my own mind car.

So, those of you that know me know that I express a preference for colorful language.  And when I say colorful, I mean shit brown, piss yellow, and Linda Blair puke green.

Hello, my name is DmentD, and I like to curse.  Now go fuck yourself silly.

I don’t always use the foul vernacular; it can be a lazy way to get your point across.  One must first know how to speak well and communicate clearly before one can effectively use four-letter words with the proper impact. 

(Side note: how did the term ‘four-letter word’ come about as a generic and pasteurized way to describe profane language… especially when there are such tasty words like asshole, motherfucker, jackoff, snatch, cumdumpster and mooseknuckle, none of which are four letters long?  This is, by the way, is purely rhetorical.  I know the answer, and just felt like working "mooseknuckle" into this post ’cause it cracks me up.  There, I did it twice.)

My finest moments occur while I’m driving.  Again, if you’ve ridden with me you know all too well that I vent at the other drivers on the road, none of whom come close to my world class, platinum perfect vehicular handling skills.  I comment, I quip, I holler and I curse.  Now, if you were interpreting this as road rage you’d be dead wrong.  Road rage would be if I took action on the other drivers, which I don’t.  This is a pure 100% letting off of steam, an acknowledgement to myself that they pissed me off, getting it off my chest and moving on.  This incident and any anger or aggravation is forgotten almost as soon as the words leave my mouth.

However…

It does make for some fine, extemporaneous swearing.  It’s like being a free-form jazz musician.  I’m Miles Davis mixed with Lenny Bruce, with just a dash of that retarded kid that lives down the block from you (you know, the one that wears the Hello Kitty bike helmet (helmet size ‘extra pre-pubescent’, head size ’15lb H2O’) and the "Honk if you’re a honkey!" t-shirt — answers to the names Carl and "get off my lawn").

I also have many opportunities to laugh at my own ridiculousness.  For example, I was driving down the road, all the windows down (sunroof and rear hatch windows open too) and enjoying the sunny weather, singing along with the Beatles, which I had cranked up on the ol’ Victrola.  I was in a spectacularly good mood.  The particular street I was on has a center turn lane that allows folks making a left turn to get the hell out of everyone else’s way and not bind up traffic.  The considerate fellow in front of me starts braking ever so slowly, forcing me to decelerate to a near stop, before he eventually gets into that center turn lane to make the left.  Of course, I can’t let this go without comment.  Here is what the casual pedestrian on the sidewalk would have heard:

"Love, love me do jumping jesus christ on a pogo stick!"
"You know I love you oh come the fuck on!"
"I’ll always be true that’s why there’s a motherfucking turn lane!"
"So please, love me do so motherfuckers like you can turn!"
"Oh, love me do well it’s about time, douchebag!"

I wish I had a recording of that… I’d play it at parties.

I am a profane lexicon.  I am a sponge and an originator.  I am an idiot savant (ok, just an idiot).  I am Jack’s ruptured bowel duct.

I agree with Louis Black when he says: "I realize I use the word ‘fuck’ a lot, and I’d apologize, but, well, I don’t give a shit.  I’ve lived in New York City for so long that ‘fuck’ isn’t even a word… it’s a comma.”  Except that I don’t live in New York and… well, you get my point.

Here’s a homework assignment.  Try reading, to yourself, down this list in a crowded room, preferably at work, without snorting out loud because you were trying not to laugh yourself into an embarrassing explanation.  You are disqualified if you read it in the privacy of your own home or other quiet location.  Bonus points if you can keep your shit together when you read the definition of dirty sanchez.