Cocksuckers and Shit Angels

Some people have a mantra. A word they chant over and over again, in an attempt to centre themselves and find peace.

I have the word 'fuck.' A word I say over and over again, in an attempt to stave off stress-headaches, and to magically repel bad drivers. If I didn't say 'fuck,' I would kill people. Everytime I say 'fuck,' I save a life. The life I save could be yours.

I have used the word 'fuck' in every imaginable combination. Motherfucker. Fuck off. Fuck you. Fuck them all. Jesus-fucking-Christ. What the fuck? Who the fuck are you? Get the fuck away from me. What the fuck is wrong with you people? Fuck it. What the fuck is wrong with your face? Who the fuck is that? What's that fucking noise? Fuck-fuck-diddly-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Someday I should really keep track of how many times a day I say 'fuck,' but I just don't have the fucking patience.

I also like to say 'cocksucker," but I have never used it to actually describe someone who was sucking a cock. I have used it to described the following people: Anyone who has ever been driving withing ten metres of me. Anyone in front of me at the checkout line at any store. Anyone who has ever bumped into me at a bar/restaurant/mall/library/church. All of my ex-boyfriends. My high school gym teacher. My landlords. The people who didn't plow the parking lot until late this afternoon. My old VCR when it ate my copy of Lethal Weapon. Every vehicle I have ever driven. A dog that pissed on our barbeque. Several of my former bosses. My sister. Nylons that have runs in them. Dirty dishes. My computer. A raccoon that I hit with my car about 10 years ago. Whoever cancelled Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Probably every single person reading this (behind your back, of course.)

'Shit' is a word that I frequently use, much like most of you. But unlike most of you, I have actual physical experience with shit on a level that makes me uniquely qualified to use it as a curse word. A few years ago, I was at my my parents' farm, helping my dad herd a cow from an enclosed shed-type thingie into a barn. There was a space between the enclosed shed-type thingie and the barn, that was open on one side. My dad asked my to prop up a wooden gate that was about three metres long, so he could get the cow from Point A to Point B, without it running away. It did not go exactly as planned. The cow decided it did not WANT to go to Point B, and instead ran directly into the wooded gate I was holding up. What followed can only be described as a Shit Sandwhich with a Melanie Filling and a Cow on Top. The top layer was Cow. Below Cow was Wooden Gate. Below Wooden Gate was Melanie. Below Melanie was Cow Shit. I had shit in my clothes, shit in my hair, shit under my fingernails, and I damn-near had shit in my mouth. Lucky (?) for me, I sank into the shit, and therefore was not crushed to death by the cow, which ran along on its merry way, leaving me embedded in a cold shit cocoon. When I got up, there was a me-shaped outline in the shit. A Shit-Angel.

So when I say 'shit,' I fucking well mean it, cocksucker.