…at least, I think I did.
I’m certainly dating myself by using the term “Electric Kool Aid”, aren’t I?
Tonight’s Sermon
My friends, your Uncle Doc has been known to swear. Regularly…like, every fuckin’ day. I have, on occasion, completely worn out such words as “shit”, “fuck”, “cocksucker” and my (and Harrison Ford’s) personal favorite, “motherfucker”. Still, those excessive uses of profanity in anger are rather rare. Oh, I do curse when I’m mad, but I only get into the world class stuff when something REALLY chaps my Portuguese/Celtic ass. Something deserving of a truly blistering barrage of creative cussing. Something like my own stupidity. Such was the case tonight.
Without going into details I’m not yet at liberty to discuss, let me say that my present Pro Writing Job is of an adaptive nature, rather than a totally creative nature. I have not only the product I’m adapting, but supplements to it. Tonight, I realized that I had written about 1,000 words on subjects in one of the supplements, not the main item I am supposed to be doing. Thus, once I removed the wrongfully adapted items, my word count was buggered to the tune of 1,007 words. This caused me no little distress and lead to about a 5 minute nonstop swearapalooza.
I not only covered all the classic swear words and oaths, I used many of the lesser heard and regional ones. I made reference to family trees, sexual orientations, ethnicities, sexual acts of all varieties including those that are physically impossible for most humans, facial features, body odors, political persuasions and unhealthy pastimes involving farm animals.
Eventually, just as the books and games in the Writing Room were beginning to smolder and the paint on the walls was starting to blister, I calmed down to milder oaths suck as “dickheaded Portugee” and “fucking dipshit”. After a few deep breaths and a minute of pounding my head on the wall, all was back to normal. My Sweet Little Skateboarding Elasmosaurus Of Passion heard none of this, since I had the presence of mind not to curse loudly enough to be heard over the movie she was watching in the living room.
So, instead of being so close to the writing finish line that I could smell it, I’m back rounding the fourth turn. It’s too late tonight to write more and besides, while I was on my 1.5 mile walk, a stray dog barked at me and my best retort was “shut up, you stupid dog”. Obviously, I’m too tapped out for tonight.
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