The Bitter Truth About the Cracker Barrel

I have a confession. This post isn't about the Cracker Barrel. I guess I have two confessions. This post isn't about the Cracker Barrel AND I have a deep abiding love for curse words. I know what you're thinking. Shit. Three confessions; this post isn't about the Cracker Barrel, I have a deep abiding love for curse words and I can read minds.

WARNING: If you take offense to foul language, you should go no further. And you should reconsider our friendship.

So why do I love curse words so much? Just look at them. Asshole. (I'm not calling YOU an asshole. Or I am.) It's so basic. It's talking about the hole that is in your ass. Like it's just this cavern that goes on forever. It spawns great drawings like this:

Asshole. Asscavern. Asspit. Asschasm. 

Or the phrase "shit for brains". When said to, or screamed at, someone, you're implying that their head is filled with shit and this is what they're making all their decisions with. Their head is literally filled with shit. What's not fun about that?

Dick wad. Dick weed. Dick Tracy. There's a richness in all of these. They're concise. Crisp even. They can convey a range of complex emotions in a short amount of time. When someone does something shitty, you don't want to spend five minutes explaining that you're disappointed and that they're a shitbag for doing whatever they did (probably leaving the seat up, am I right ladies?). You just say "Fuck you, shitbag!" and you're on your way!

A well placed "fuck" is always going to be funny to me. Here's an example: "Great. I ate KFC and now I have dia-fucking-rrhea." Without that little interjection, this is a sad sentence about a medical condition. With it, however, you now have a sentence that can launch 1000 sitcoms.

So embrace these words; celebrate these wonderful words. And if you continued reading beyond my warning and were in any way offended, I'm really fucking sorry.