Swear all you want because profanity shouldn't even be a thing

Maybe he's about to say "friendship." I doubt it, though.

We humans didn't always have a sophisticated written and spoken language the way we do today. No, we probably started out with mere grunts and groans. Only after a lot of trial and error did we decide that certain grunts and groans indicated particular things. And look at us now. We have hundreds of thousands, perhaps even a million, words in the English language alone. If that doesn't suit you, there are over 7,000 other languages to choose from on this planet, each with its own rich, diverse vocabulary.

But somewhere along the line, we decided that particular words are so powerful that their use should be regulated, restricted, or even banned outright. Some of these words are hateful insults aimed at races, religions, sexual orientations, etc. We call such words slurs. But many other "forbidden" words simply refer to distasteful topics or express extreme frustration. We call these words profanities.

I understand the stigma attached to slurs, which can be used to denigrate people and may even incite violence. But I have never understood—and will likely never understand—the concept of profanity. What a useless, anti-helpful idea. Who benefits from this? What possible gain is there from making certain words restricted or forbidden? Whose life has been improved by this? All I know is that there are people in this world who take great offense at profanity. And because of them, sentences with these "naughty" words have to be bowdlerized or lobotomized before they can be expressed. How dumb.

You know what really irks me about this? What really drives me up the wall? It's the pious, phony hypocrisy of it all. To me, the most obscene, hateful, offensive, destructive sentiments ever expressed by human beings have not been loaded with profanities. Instead, they have been couched in the perfectly "clean," respectable language of government and commerce. A political leader might issue an order that leads to thousands of deaths. The head of a pharmaceutical company might raise the price of a life-saving drug. An influencer might deliver false and even dangerous information to millions of followers. And not one of these people will use a single so-called "profanity." But we carry on as if "four-letter words" were the greatest plague ever released on humanity.

If you are one of those people who make a big show of being offended by profanity, I have no respect or sympathy for you. To me, it's akin to superstition. If you feel the opposite way, you can express that in the comments section of this article. But you'll have to make an awfully convincing case before I am swayed.

A rant about celebrity impressions

King of the impressionists: Rich Little at the Laugh Factory.

Let me say right off the bat that I have always been fascinated with celebrity impressions and the people who do them. From a very young age, I always looked forward to seeing impressionists when they appeared on variety shows or talk shows. Johnny Carson and David Letterman booked a lot of celebrity mimics over the years, and I was grateful to them for that. Rich Little, Frank Gorshin, Fred Travalena -- these were my boyhood heroes. Sketch shows like SCTV, Saturday Night Live, and In Living Color were always good showcases for celebrity impressions, too, with people like Dana Carvey and Darrell Hammond specializing in aping the rich and famous.

It must be weird and a little lonely being a famous impressionist. No one cares about you. They just care about the characters you do. It's like being a ventriloquist: Your act requires you to all but suppress your own personality. Ever notice how, in most ventriloquism acts, the human always has a very bland personality, and the dummy gets all the jokes? It's the same way with mimics. When they aren't in character, they're the saddest, most boring people ever.

Anyway, celebrity impressions are alive and well in the age of YouTube. Lots and lots of people do them. But it's devolved into a parlor trick. People don't even bother coming up with funny things for celebrities to say and do. They just copy the voice and mannerisms, and that's it. Well, I say, that's not good enough. Here's a YouTube rant on the topic. It's not meant to be an attack on anyone in particular, despite that angry-sounding title.

Sorry, but we need to go back to eating geese.

Street vendors are peddling their boiled goose.

Geese are dicks. Sorry, but it's true. They're the absolute worst -- the asshats of the avian kingdom. Compared to geese, pigeons are like cuddly, adorable puppies. Geese have no redeeming qualities. They honk incessantly. They shit everywhere. They terrify pedestrians. And they have little to no respect for motorists. They just flat out suck. And the worst of it is that they travel in packs and waddle around my neighborhood like some demented, feathery street gang. They're like the Crips.

Now, I have heard of people being attacked by wild turkeys, but that has never even come close to happening to me. In fact, chickens and turkeys don't generally bother the citizenry where I live. You know why? Because we eat them! A chicken in suburban Chicago is likely to wind up in either Parmesan or McNugget form. And that's good, because then there's not chickenshit all over the place. And turkeys? They only show up here around November, and that's in the freezer case at the supermarket. But geese? Geese are every damned where.

My solution is simple: we need to go back to eating geese. A lot. I'm talking geeseburgers, geese soup, geese ravioli, the works. Restaurants should be serving spaghetti and geeseballs. Now, you might be thinking, "Gross! I don't wanna eat geese!" Well, get over it, junior! You're officially part of the problem. Geese know that we don't eat them anymore. That's why they're not afraid of us. But once the foie gras starts flowing like tap water, then we'll see!

You need inspiration? Watch any of the seven bajillion movies of A Christmas Carol. The characters not only eat geese constantly, they love it! They look forward to it! It's the highlight of their day! I say, it's time to get Dickensian on the goose population.

Must... not... kill... family!

The product of utter boredom.

I love my family. Really I do. But they can be a major pain in the ass, if you dig what I'm burying. I'm writing this post on a Kindle from a sad, grungy motel somewhere in Indiana. Why? Because it's a holiday, that's why. 

What? Your family doesn't get together for Memorial Day because it's not something anybody does? Well, please tell that to my family. Instead of going home on Friday and enjoying some much-needed R&R, I got on an Amtrak train to Nowheresville, Indiana. It's not where I grew up, mind you. It's just where my sister and her family happen to live. 

For reasons I'll never quite grasp, my physical presence is expected on pretty much all major and minor holidays, not just Christmas and Thanksgiving. This is mainly due to my elderly father, who makes me feel incredibly guilty if I skip a holiday. As much as I enjoy seeing my family (for a few hours, anyway), I've come to sort of dread holidays in general. These trips are expensive, uncomfortable, inconvenient, and boring. The train trip is about four hours, starting from Chicago, but it feels like a small eternity. And then, once I get here, there's never anything to do. This goddamned room doesn't  even have a working TV set! 

And I don't typically go to bed at 8:00 on a Saturday night. That misshapen sketch up there, which I think started as a portrait of Neil Young before mutating into a monstrous old cowboy, should give you some indication of my degree of boredom. I'd write more, but typing on a Kindle is a stone drag. Bottom line: pray for my deliverance... and maybe ask your congressman if we can't get rid of a few holidays.

UPDATE: I  wrote the paragraph above when I was in a pretty crummy mood. In truth, it can be fun seeing the family. But I still think we get together too often. And there really is nothing to do in Indiana. The TV's still busted, in case you were wondering. Going home tomorrow... just in time for the holiday weekend to be over.