Earthly elements scraped the bottoms of my barefeet as I hoofed my afternoon walk. Placid, calm, enjoyable. But the quiet streets of suburbia were interrupted by two whiggers, flawless specimens of a degenerate species. They only graced my presence for a few brief, shiny seconds, but from what little time there was I could easily discern the incredible breadth that passes for their vocabulary. The shorter one with plastered brown hair talked about his friend f—k, describing him as a f—k who f—k-d his f—king f—k, all with the pristine conversational skills of the average, doped-ridden teenager.
Now then, I’m not the guy who will interrupt someone with, “hey man – you cussed!”, because swearing can serve a good purpose (I have no problem doing it myself, on occasion), but I reserve my most contemptuous thoughts for those individuals that use it as a crux for all their insecurities. High School culture has already seared what was left of their moral compass, but you don’t minimize your swearing for moral reasons; you stop because you don’t want to sound like a self-conscious moron.
These pathetic creatures imagine themselves to be the paragons of cool and rebellion when they are in fact the most approval-seeking individuals on the planet, slavishly searching for outward notice and approval, always laboring in the vein that what they’re doing makes a difference.
Curser Kid, stop swearing; you’re not good at it. I know my pearls of wisdom will bounce off your unmotivated mind like a track coaches’ pushing words to a snail, but soon the unforgiving forces of reality will set in your identity stone the words, You Are Not Cool.