Click to Subscribe
Expletive Omnibus
Wicked Words by Hugh Rawson
© 2014 James LaFond
APR/23/14
A Treasury of Curses, Insults, Put-Downs, and Other Formerly Unprintable Terms from Anglo-Saxon Times to the Present
1989, Crown, NY, 435 pages
I spent many years of my life as a grunt laborer working with morons for idiots to feed the zombie masses. Through all of those years I recalled, when hearing f-word after f-word after f-word—and even the startling banal artistry of a compound sentence consisting entirely of tenses and usages of the f-word—I would ever recall my Uncle Robert’s dictum, “People use swear words because they are morons; idiots without the requisite vocabulary to express themselves.”
Uncle Robert was either a quadroon [1/4 black] or octoroon [1/8 black]. I wonder how he would feel now that both races that he sprung from in America use the f-word and/or the n-word as a matter of everyday discourse?
For a year or so, when in my 20s, working with a crew of ghetto guys, I began to cuss a lot at work. I made sure not to cuss at home. After a few months I noticed that I did not think as clearly at work. I thought it was the atmosphere. Then I made an effort not to cuss at work. When I stopped all together I began to think more clearly again. I have no idea if this was illusory, or if not, what mechanic in my mind slows my reasoning and curbs my contemplation when I use the f-word and s-word and other emotive abbreviations of the communication process, instead of a more accurate term.
Among whites the word that most often reaches my ears is the f-word. And, anytime the feared blacks are not around, my white male friends over 40 will use the n-word, like it is a sacred relic of the tongue to be savored, some lost word of power.
Among blacks the word I most commonly hear is the one my Uncle Robert considered utterly reprehensible, the n-word. Of course, the second most common word they use is the f-word, which [according to another source]hails back to English longbow men who ‘plucked’ their arrows with their two long fingers turning the threat of their finger work into a gesture of the middle-finger accompanied by ‘pluck you’.
To me, this word, and its m-f compound version, is most interesting. The n-word is just a political/cultural weapon/anthem; an English distortion of the Portuguese word for black; a verbal football. But the f-word is a shared sacred word of power, a curse with the power to lower IQ by its mere utterance. Dungeons & Dragons players take note.
According to Hugh Rawson, the f—word began in England in Shakespeare’s time. The m-f word is a later African American innovation that was first heard by a white person in the 1920s. That such a shared race semantic would be at the tip of every young black hoodlum’s tongue at every moment, and that most equally angry middle-aged white men who bother to comment on the American social climate in my hearing, cannot get through a paragraph without using the f-word, is somewhat ironic.
I was recently listening to Jack Donavon’s Start the World podcast #3. He was speaking with a manliness advocate, a power lifting guru, a ‘prolific blogger’. This man was incapable of putting three sentences together without the f-word. It is nice having such a concise means of determining that the man would not be presenting deeply considered conclusions. I switched off the podcast and ceased to waste my time.
I found myself considering the level of anger—which is generally a reflection of failed contemplation—among those white men that imitate black youth ghetto-speak, even as they rant against the degenerate culture they unconsciously ape. Having little to go on but reflections I accessed Mister Rawson’s seminal work on taboo words and found some answers. It occurred to me then that Hugh Rawson deserves some praise for this dictionary of insults. I have referred to the work often for my historic fiction. But now I see it as a work of importance in its own right; a record of the cyclic evolution and devolution of our collective thought process.
See if you can get a copy. You may not borrow mine. In case Charles ever gets my time machine fixed I want to be certain that I can curse with the utmost alacrity anywhere in the English-speaking world.
‘The Sheriff’s Whore’
book reviews
‘A Faint Burn of Despair’
eBook
spqr
eBook
sons of arуas
eBook
your trojan whorse
eBook
dark, distant futures
eBook
let the world fend for itself
eBook
'in these goings down'
eBook
fiction anthology one
eBook
crag mouth
  Add a new comment below:
Name
Email
Message