After I wrote my previous post about bullshit on my Facebook wall, 37 people reacted to my post. At one point, someone expressed his displeasure for the amount of swearing I do. That would’ve been fine had the person not added, “I regard you as more intelligent than to need to use those words,” at which point I lost all respect for the conversation. What a load of fucking bullshit.
For the millionth fucking time, there is no correlation between how much one swears and how intelligent one is. It’s time I stop humoring people who argue like that by putting up links to articles, which they won’t bother to read as they wallow in denial. Just Google it, goddamnit! And stop fucking bullshitting!
That’s right! If your argument against swearing is that you just don’t like hearing people swear, then say it! It’s more honest that way, and we don’t have to pretend that you give a flying shit about others’ intelligence—which brings us to another matter.
So what if I’m fucking stupid? Does that make me less of a person? Does that mean Forrest Gump can go eat a dick? If that’s what you are implying, then say it. Make your prejudice against dumb people explicit. Or admit that the intelligence argument against bullshit is a load of horseshit. Either way, the implication is that there is something wrong with dumb people, just as if you would be implying that there is something wrong with poor/gay/ugly/female/non-Christian/non-white/non-Republican/non-beer-drinking people had you said, “I regard you as more rich/straight/handsome/male/Christian/white/Republican/beer-drinking than to need to use those words,” to which I would from now on reply, “I regard(ed) you as more intelligent (and honest) than to need to use that argument.”
Lastly, I will say this. It seems that one of the reasons that the arguer tolerated my swearing for so long is that he considered me a child prodigy at the piano, almost twenty years ago. That by itself is flattering, but to discourage me from saying “fuck” and “shit” based on my reputation as a piano player is as flattering as to discourage someone from smoking based on his reputation as Karl Lagerfeld. You wouldn’t say “Karl, stop smoking, because you’re a fashion designer.” You should say, “Karl, stop smoking, because it’s bad for you because it causes cancer.” If you really like Karl, then it doesn’t matter if he’s a fashion designer. You just like the idea of Karl Fucking Lagerfeld, the same way Margaret Thatcher didn’t really like Mozart, she just liked her idea of Mozart and so refused to believe that Mozart liked toilet humor.
By refusing to accept what you don’t like about me—in this case, my swearing—you refuse to accept me. You don’t really like ME. You like your own idea of who you want me to be. Well, guess what? You are not my dad. Or my mom. And even my dad and mom have long given up on treating me like a lump of clay when they realized they aren’t motherfucking Michelangelo.
They still accept who I am, because they are my parents and they love me, and they see me saying and doing shit they disagree with every day, and so they have long been disabused of any notion of me as that perfect child.
Do you know how hairy my ass is? Well, you don’t, and you don’t want to.
If I become a foul-mouthed quadriplegic who needs you to wipe my ass, would you clean every one of my ass hairs with loving care? No?
Can you accept every one of my ass hairs? Or count my ass hairs if you had to? No, because you don’t really want to know about my ass hairs, do you?
Well, my parents might be fine with knowing these things. My wife would wax my ass hairs to prevent the dingleberries from growing. Oh, I forgot, your idea of me contains no dingleberries.
Go find another talented, grown-ass man who has a clean mouth and a clean, hairless ass. He’s probably willing to regard himself as more intelligent than to need to use “those words.”