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Tuesday, 9 April 2013

Blog 33. Can’t Cuss? Try a Comedy Curse!

Essential Expletives!

There is a reason for expletives. They have a purpose. The problem is they are over used and used inappropriately hence the amount of energy expended by your blogger at bus stops, in supermarkets etc frightening teenaged boys who think no one is going to challenge them when they punctuate their grunting with the ‘F’ word because they are with five of their mates.

In reality I do not mind swearing. It’s simply a matter of time, place and appropriateness.

Occasionally, every expletive ever invented and some yet to be thought of suddenly become essential. Sod’s law being what it is that will happen just when the kind of restrictions mentioned above unexpectedly apply to you.

Such is the case this week.

I’ve no way of knowing how many of the 4.5k+ bleaders are adults but generally speaking I write with the adult world in mind so I have not felt I need to be too restrictive about my language. Since doing the Writing Residency in Newbiggin however I know some of the youngsters have visited the blog (and left very nice messages for me – thank you) so for a little while I will be circumspect. This tepid self-censorship could not have come at a worse time.

Last week one of my Yahoo accounts – frequently spammed in both directions – was totally annihilated, hacked to death. The e-mail burglars made off with about 240 of my mail shot and performance and poetry contacts. What I really desperately need and want to do this week is plaster this blog with the worst expletives I can think of – in gigantic font, underlined and in bold and in a type face that would strike terror into the meanest heart.

Expletives become essential when something so frustrating, inconvenient and irritating has happened that you almost implode but that something is a long way short of an earthquake.

In case you received one of the fake e-mails I am not in the Philippines, not being held by the police and have not had my money and passport stolen, I do not require money to be wired to an account that will be specified when you reply to the mail yada yada yada...

Instead – having thought long and hard about it – the only solution is to e-curse the e-burglars (oh and Yahoo for being crap when I tried to report the problem) so here goes

To whom it may concern,
I hope that you;

Get cystitis.
Trip on a paving slab when everyone is looking at you.
Burn your toast every morning for a year.
Accidentally have sex with Michael Gove.
Are forced to view people’s Facebook pictures of themselves for 12 unbroken hours.

I hope that you have to travel on the no.14 bus from Morpeth for three months listening to people discussing their ailments in loud detail, highlighting the ‘tests’ the doctor sent them for. The word ‘tests’ spoken in mysterious tones so you get the full drama. Should you tell them or should I that the reason they are repeatedly sent for ‘testsssss’ is because the only way the doctors can get their own back is by sticking needles in them. And no – that look of fixed stupefaction that the medic wears when you are talking is nothing to do with amazement at the unique nature of your medical condition.

But I digress.

I hope the e-burglars lose all spatial awareness when stressed or tired (oh sorry, that’s me).
I hope the e-burglars get diarrhoea AND constipation.
I hope they get on stage at an important gig and fluff their words (oh no that’s me too).
I hope they have to walk through Kielder forest in the summer with no clothes on and get their soft bits chewed by midges.
Accidentally watch Lake Placid 1/2/4.
Get stuck in a room with raw turkey twizzlers and no cooker and no other food for a month.
Each week, be forced to listen to last week’s edition of Money Box Live.
The zombie resurrection of Margaret Thatcher eats their faces off.

In other words I wish they would just F@%&*+ %@~?”$%*+ff

I’m sorry your blogger has gone up in a puff of smoke. We hope to get her back together and resume normal services in time for next Tuesday.

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