How did I lose my swearing virginity? Well, one of the older kids in my neighborhood — she was nine to my six — taught me the word fuck on Halloween. What a word! It was an onomatopoeia before I even knew what an onomatopoeia was.
Years later, I kept getting called “ugly” when I got off the school bus. This went on a few times before I turned around, faced the obnoxious boys, and yelled, “FUCK YOU!!” The bus full of kids erupted in applause. (The taunting happened another time; I yelled my “fuck you” again, only to be met with total silence. This would be my first lesson in: Always Surprise Your Audience.)
These days, I find myself muttering fuck — a LOT. Mostly because I’ve been subsisting on pureed carrots and broiled hamburger for too long, and the thought of all I have to do while calorie deprived leaves me so overwhelmed, that muttering fuck is about the only thing that feels right. Note: I don’t go around yelling, “fuck you” at my kids. That would be weird.
Swears strike the perfect tone. They allow me to bless Stepford with everything it has coming to it; and provide me with the first words needed whenever I read the news about the republicanreligiousrightteapartynutjobs.
If I had to figure out the psychology of why I swear, I would cite studies that show people who swear are hiding insecurity or providing shock value as an additive to humor. My own research shows that I am a person who is very easily frustrated, and that I tend to be surrounded by a lot of douchebags, mother fuckers and assholes.