Swear Words

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

This story that contains a ton of swear words.

Submitted: March 19, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 19, 2018



Swear W@#!s


Shit, piss, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits were George Carlin’s list of Seven Words You May Never Say on Television. Despite the implication of the infamous title of Carlin’s bit, I happen to have heard all those words being uttered liberally on TV programs. And if you turn on HBO at just the right time you’ll hear all those words being used in the same sentence. Not to say there’s anything with that. I exchange profanities often with friends. Swearing is the freedom of self-expression. Sometimes a hundred adjectives fail to convey how I feel but a single profanity gets the job done. Shit! I forgot to do my homework or Piss off! I feel relaxed after I have sworn, a weight had been lifted off of my soul and sometimes if I’m around friends; I get a few smiles as well. I swear for no reason. I swear when I’m angry, hangry, happy, afraid, surprised, fascinated, anxious, powerless, unsure, uneasy, uncertain, warm, cold, in love or when I just feel like shit.


I never heard my mother swear but my father, well, he probably has lingering soap particles in his mouth from childhood. I loved reading comic books as a child and I still do. The first time I heard anyone swear, other than my father, was of my voice reading a comic book. My mother was never concerned with the contents of those comic books. Perhaps because when she was young comic books were still meant for children. Thinking about it now, I wonder why would a writer think their fictional characters need to swear?


A frequent swearer like me can easily get comfortable with swearing. And once in a while, the occasion comes where I swear in front of people I’m not supposed to, accidentally of course. Now, me being a student who spends most of their day at school; it makes sense that the unintended audience of my colourful vocabulary are usually teachers. In situations like this, I find the best strategy is to continue saying whatever you were saying, with confidence. Acting like a deer caught in a headlight doesn’t help. If done properly; the teacher will question what he/she just heard and opt for the simplest explanation, not enough coffee.


Among the countless arsenal of profanities, the F-bomb is everybody’s favourite. It’s my go-to, my tongue is always hovering over the launch button. This is a word that far outlasted the legacy from where it originated. What are the chances that a verb from a Germanic language meaning, To Rub would be the first word that comes to anyone’s mind when they stub their toe, over a thousand years later? If words were tools, fuck would be the swiss army knife. Its versatility is unmatched. It is used as a verb, a noun, an adverb, conjunction even as a fucking adjective. This surprisingly potent word can wreak havoc and if used properly it can replace a thousand words, Fuck the Police.


The first time I saw “fuck” in a piece of literature was during English class. Mr. Beanish asked everyone to read-aloud a paragraph from The Perks of Being a Wallflower and I was tasked with reading the paragraph containing the profanity. I wondered when I arrived at that sentence, what should I say? Should I read it as it is? Should I read Eff-you! Instead. Should I act like I’ve never heard the word? While running all these scenarios in my head I didn’t pay any attention to what I was reading, sighing became “singing”, presence became “present”, though became “through” and as Mr. Beanish kindly pointed-out, I had skipped a whole line. Finally, when it was time to say it. I said it, loud and proud. It was the last sentence of the paragraph. Afterwards, I felt like an Adult, like Charlie I also came of age. Needless to say, since then I’ve become adept at dropping the F-bomb.


I can’t resist swearing any more than I can resist yawning or sneezing, no more than a singer can resist singing, no more than time can stop happening, no more than words can resist meaning, no more than my clumsy eyes can tell apart sighing and singing or though and through. My mother on the other hand, she is tireless. My mother’s melodic voice often strips her spoken words of meaning, one puts more attention to her rhythm than her words. Her smile has the power to reverse the biological clock within her. At that instant you wish time could freeze forever. I don’t know how she does it. I don’t how know she resists swearing. Sometimes I feel she isn’t being authentic. She guards her true emotions and locks them up, lost and unknown to the outside world, lost in the dark void of her eyes. Whatever the reason for her inauthenticity is, it also kept me from swearing in front of her. Sometimes I wonder if she knows that I swear a lot. I wonder if she thinks I’m still that 7-year-old innocent boy reading regular comic books meant for children. If so, I wonder about her reaction if she knew I’m swearing in my writing, for school no less. Maybe, we are both afraid that if we show our true selves to each other, we’ll perceive each other differently

© Copyright 2018 Prachurya Deepta. All rights reserved.

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