On the Effective Use of the Overused Eff Bomb
Resilient writing — If you’re going to use an expletive, make it count! Plus the funniest shaggy-dog story ever
SERIOUS HUMOR
Many burgeoning writers truly believe sprinkling their work with expletives will guarantee a best seller. In my world, those weak, common words make writers seem less than witty — I’m sad that their vocabularies are so limited. I mean, there are literally billions of words out there.
If you want to write something potent, replace the limp eff word with a stiffer, more upstanding word like the Yiddish schtup. Take some poetic license. Go look for some strong words that are unique, or at least not hackneyed.
I mean, “That’s schtupping amazing” reads more creatively than some random old eff-based modifier. In a pinch, the Spanish me vale verga, translates “it’s worth a penis to me,” and is a pretty emphatic way to say, “I don’t effing care.”
Okay, I concede that sometimes the standard Anglo-Saxon eff bomb is the only thing that works. Let me share a perfect example.
My dad and the F-word
Those who knew my dad knew that he was ultra conservative in ways that had nothing to do with an orange dictator. In our house, one dared not utter anything that could be even wildly construed as a curse word. I never heard him say damn it, and we were not allowed to fart — we were required to blow one.
When I was 16, Dad brought home a funny shaggy-dog story from Charlie At Work that cracked him up so thoroughly he abandoned his own lifelong rules. Dad agonized over whether or not to tell us the story. Here it is.
A little kid went into an ice cream parlor and asked for a chocolate ice cream cone.
“Sorry, no chocolate. We got vanilla, strawberry, and butter pecan,” came the reply from the surly old guy behind the counter. “What’ll it be, kid?”
The kid, undeterred, came back with, “I want chocolate.” The man, less civilly, repeated his answer. And the kid, not budging, repeated his order.
This went on for some time; I’ll spare you more repetition. Finally, the old guy scratched his chin, frowned, and thought. A light bulb lit up over his head.
“Kid,” he said in an ominously quiet tone, “Spell the straw in strawberry.”
After a head-scratch, “S-t-r-a-w,” came the reply from the puzzled kid.
“Spell the butter in butter pecan.”
“B-u-t-t-e-r,” the kid said, feeling very intelligent.
A moment of silence. The old guy looked at the kid. The kid stared back.
“Fine, now spell the FUCK in chocolate.”
The kid screwed up his face, thinking the old guy was nuts. He exclaimed righteously, “There IS no fuck in chocolate.”
And a roar from the store clerk: “THAT’S what I been tryin’ to tell ya!”
Good night. Tell your friends I’m here all week….
“Those who knew my dad knew that he was ultra conservative in ways that had nothing to do with an orange dictator.”
I’m ultra conservative in ways. They have nothing to do with an orange dictator and I voted for Trump twice.
"If you want to write something potent, replace the limp eff word with a stiffer, more upstanding word..."
I see what you're doing there. Clever.