As I’ve begun to age into an adult I’ve attempted curb my cursing habits to almost nonexistent. Using vulgarity is the quickest way to lower you perceived social status and always a cheap way to express emotion. Don’t limit your ability to socially excel by using trashy verbiage–speak well and smile and people will assume you’re a handsome little devil with endless potential. With that said, some times it’s essential to use fowl language to convey a message.
I fucking love ice cream. That is a statement that requires the use of the offensive language. Mainly because I don’t love ice cream, I fucking love ice cream. There’s a big different. I love t-shirts, but if you showed up at my house wearing a sweater I’d be totally fine. I’d probably even be like, “hey cool sweater, man.” On the other hand, if you promised me ice cream and showed up with a bowl marshmallows I’d punch you square in the jaw. I’m not kidding, square in the fucking jaw (note the difference between loving and fucking loving). Adding the f-word emphasizes the noun like nothing else would. I could say, “I really love ice cream,” but I’m not a six-year-old girl, so that’s not an option. Besides, if a six-year-old girl honestly loved ice cream that much, she’d curse. She’d have to or else she’d be lying about how much she really cares about ice cream. Which would be hard to do, because when you fucking love ice cream, you can’t front. It’s easy to love things, but not fucking love them. I dated a girl for three years and didn’t even fucking love her. Don’t get me wrong, I thought she was cool, but I don’t throw the f-word around that carelessly.
Example: I love Cinnabons, but I don’t fuc–actually Cinnabons are a bad example–I fucking love those as well. They’re just so delicious. Pause for a second, if there’s a Cinnabon ice cream–which I’m googling right now to check–not even the f-word would suffice as an adjective. Update: there is a Cinnabon ice cream and I just sent out an email to my love-handles letting them know to make room for the sweet, slow-churned, vanilla swirls that are going to make their way down my mouth and into my already full pockets of fat.
I just re-read what I wrote and really don’t understand why I want to be this fat. I’ve been drooling for the last two paragraphs. I have an addiction to terrible foods and I’m not sure how to stop it. It’s not like I want to stop it. If I walked into a room to be surprised by an ice cream intervention, straight up, I’d walk out and then text message mean things to everyone that was there. I say things like, “ice scream at you for being so heartless!” I’d feel bad afterwards, but in the moment, I’d be furious. I don’t want anything to come in between me and my sweet cream.
It’s 2:00am and I’m blogging about cursing, ice cream and Cinnabons? The supermarket is closed so I’m leaving to get my fix at a gas station. I need to go to sleep.
Daniel Dickey
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LOL! You, sir are fucking awesome.
Please excuse my while I reattach my ass. It seems to have fallen off when I was laughing.
I hate when that happens.