Anyhoo, I digress. Happens all the time. The point of this story (yes, there is a point, smart asses) is that I come by my foul mouth honestly. I've simply always had it. I was probably cursing about in the womb at the cramped conditions. I was a kicker in utero. I was born an angry rebel, man!
I was even a cursing toddler. When I was about three years old, daddums asked me to take my new shiny red purse, that was sitting on the kitchen table, upstairs to my bedroom. Since I was a defiant motherfucker, like Steve McQueen, even at three, I stomped right out of the room. Daddums, likely highly amused, but making a fierce face at me anyway, followed behind me and listened to my enraged stomping up the stairs. As I was crossing the threshhold into my bedroom, he heard me mutter: Goddamn purse! At three years of age, people! There's no correcting that filth when it's happening that young. I guess daddums told the Moms, and he and the Moms had this great, gleeful laugh over it all. And then, they just pretended that they didn't hear it.
It's probably not so funny in retrospect. I talked to the Moms at the Retirement Trailer Park of Nirvana the other night, and she said, "Your blog is funny, but do you have to use the word motherfucker?" I proceeded to inform her that I JUST LOVE the word motherfucker. And I do. In fact, it is my favorite cuss word of ALL TIME. Then I asked the Moms if she would do me a favor and post fliers advertising my blog all over the Retirement Trailer Park of Nirvana. I think the silence on her end of the line was a no.
END NOTE: And of course, when thinking about truck drivers, the movie Thelma & Louise always comes to mind. SB loves that film! Here is the official movie photo.
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