Fucking Brilliant

Jan. 6 - Now that the American democratic presidential candidates have dropped the f-bomb (see middle of interview) and the media have had their chance to spend a couple of weeks wondering whether or not it's significant, it's time for the rest of us to sort through all this shit.

I for one feel suddenly ashamed at not having shot my filthy mouth off more often. I can get kind of fancy on these electronic pages, but in real life I talk like a drunken sailor with a stick up his ass. When I wrote for "A Prairie Home Companion," Garrison Keillor used to go apeshit on me because the first drafts of all my skits always had characters calling each other motherfuckers, shitheads, and cunts. "They don't use that kind of language in Lake Wobegon," he'd rage, "and we don't use it on this show, so get with the fucking program!" Then he'd kick my ass.

When I worked in public affairs I got pulled off a project because I recommended one of our clients adopt the slogans, "Acme: Everything else is shit" and "Acme: If you don't like us, go fuck yourself."

At Carnegie-Mellon University I entitled one of my sophomore playwriting projects "Fuck You: The Play." My professor was unamused and beat me so ruthlessly I shit blood for a month.

I could go on and on, but you get the idea. My trenchmouth has been nothing but a pain in my ass for as long as I can remember (don't even get me started on the problems it caused in school—K through fucking 12). But over the years I've learned to put a lid on it, to keep my conversation within the parameters of socially acceptable discourse.

Now we get presidential candidates making the strategic decision to say fuck? Presidential candidates? And I used to worry about making a bad impression at dinner parties?

What the fuck is going on out there? Is this supposed to make them look like regular joes? Because I happen to be a regular joe myself, and most of my friends are regular joes, and even though we're still pretty young and still talk a lot of shit, we've worked really hard most of our lives to keep our four-letter vocabularies hidden away from social conversation. I mean, if I'd met a regular jane I wanted to date when I was single, should I have asked for her "fucking phone number?" Or what? Maybe she would have thought I was more of a regular guy if instead of asking her out to dinner I'd asked her to come back to my place and fuck me? Is that how they're dating in the Beltway these days?

I'm about the last fucking guy on earth you'll ever hear complaining about declining standards, but let me get my tongue out my fucking cheek and tell you why this whole thing puts a hair up my ass: because it's the most disgusting, transparent, insulting piece of political condescension I've seen in my entire fucking life.

Think of it. There's John Kerry, coiffed and haughty, a guy who's probably spent about as many nights drinking boilermakers in seedy bars with "regular joes" like me as we've spent sucking down lime-infused mineral water in the Senate Lounge. He's giving an interview to Rolling Stone, which he stupidly perceives to be the kind of hip, cutting-edge, countercultural rag it was back when Hunter S. Thompson still knew how to write.

"Hm," he thinks (or his consultants think for him), "here's a chance to connect to the youth of America—to appeal to their idealism, optimism, and desire for change. How can I do that? I know! I'll say fuck!"

That's street-cred, Boston Brahmin style.

"Yo, homies, check this: Kerry said fuck! That dude is down with us! Let's vote for him!"

Sorry. Just had to get it off my fucking chest.

* * *

Today is the birthday of Joey Lauren Adams (1971), Rowan Atkinson (1955), Bonnie Franklin (1944), Vic Tayback (1929), Sun Myung Moon (1920), Loretta Young (1913), Danny Thomas (1912), Tom Mix (1880), and Carl Sandburg (1878).

It's Three Holy Kings Day in Croatia and Pathet Lao Day in Laos.

Happy fucking Tuesday.

2004, The Moron's Almanac™

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