Moist, and Other Bad Words
This post is rated R, so, if you’re offended by coarse language and sexual content…hold on to your fucking hat.
To some, English is a clunky, confusing language that is, as an acquaintance once said, “not seductively French enough”. An ironic statement, due to English’s French origins and influence, but I remained quiet, not wanting to come across as a total dick.
I love the English language, love reading new voices and presentations and how some folks, blessed with the ability to crush sentences, can craft masterful prose.
The rest of us (read: me) are just tryin’ to read good.
I try to balance a casual voice in writing. It’s where I’m most comfortable — scruffy, jeans and t-shirt writing. Not saying I can’t shave, slick back my hair, and throw on a tux, I just like writing the way I would speak to you one-on-one. Now, imagine my voice as a deep, orgasm-inducing baritone…
There is one major difference between my writing voice and real-life voice: I fucking love cursing. It’s hard for me not to curse constantly in everything I write.
I was at a bar the other day, and overheard a conversation that went a little like this:
Couple sitting at bar, watching Hockey playoffs.
Man, in response to bad play: “Well, that was fucking shitty!”
Woman, in response to his outburst: “Harold!”
Man: “What? It was a fucking shitty play.”
Woman, murmuring, looking around: “Your language!”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to SAY it, ” man, embarrassed.
I agree with Harold. There are times when there’s no other way to say it. Even at work, I think, ‘Boy “fuck” would be perfect in there’.
There are plenty of articles online about word Aversions and the physical response to particularly taboo curses. Some people even think the words you manufacture by vibrating vocal chords will inevitably send you to hell.
Guess I have a first class ticket to Las Vegas, then. But my real idea of hell is listening to Celine Dion on repeat whilst standing in a line at LaGuardia, for eternity.
I took a class on the history of English at Ohio State. Our professor, who looked like an older version of the then not-yet-created bad guy from ‘Despicable Me’, walked into class one day and said
“If you’re uncomfortable with ‘fuck’, you should leave today’s lecture.”
With no context to that statement, for a fleeting moment, I thought he might bend a co-ed over his desk and give us a demonstration on old swingy man balls to taut hindquarters. But thankfully, he meant the word, fuck.
Unflinchingly, Prof. Vector went through the variations and etymology of the word, including this little snippet:
The word apparently is hinted at in a scurrilous 15c. poem, titled “Flen flyys,” written in bastard Latin and Middle English
Non sunt in celi
quia fuccant uuiuys of heli
“They [the monks] are not in heaven because they fuck the wives of [the town of] Ely.” (source: etymology online)
Imagine how cool it would be to add a word variation to your vocabulary repertoire, and have it become the mother of all curses…
There’s one curse word I avoid: C**t. Can’t write it, never use it. I’ll let George Carlin, and the UK-ers keep it – sounds better when you say it anyways, especially the Scots.
There is one word, one singular syllable that makes me cringe; makes my skin crawl beyond any curse word in English or otherwise: Moist. I fucking hate it.
I didn’t know I hated the word until a particular moment of passion with a past girlfriend that may or may not read this blog told me she was…um…”that”, down there.
You know when someone throws a stick in between the spokes of a moving bike, and the bike goes for whatever distance the stick needs to reach the support bars, ultimately flipping to a dead stop, face-planting the rider?
That happened when she said ‘moist’.
Just about, but it was a legit physical reaction to a word I, until that moment, associated with cakes and cookies.
Moist haunts me. It’s the annunciation of the ‘Oy’, combined with the ‘S’. I can say ‘Oye’ all the merry day long, but when someone bites into a chocolate chip cookie, and says, “MMM so moist” I want to puke.
It’s verbal spiders, and every time I’ve typed it in this post, I’ve wretched a little.
I’d rather eat a damp cake over a moist cake any day of the week.
And it’s condensation, not moisture.
Salve not ointment.
With that, I open it up to you, dear readers…what words do you love to hate? Do your worst…