The illustrious world of well flung comments and jibes asks for a new messiah, one who will part the Red Sea of drab and infuriatingly overused sneers and show cheeky retorts the Promised Land of quick wit. I don’t claim to have found this messiah, and certainly don’t claim to be The One myself (for tales of my well natured interactions sweep far and wide). No, I am writing this post to show the world that there is scope yet for imagination to rise out of the Hallowed sands and kick the ill poised redundancy off its high horse; assuming the horse is a curse flinging, bad mouthing, ferocious Mel Gibson of a creature, of course.
A friend of mine (or someone whom I certainly hope is a friend anyway) brought to light the very graphic, and very accurate, phrase which serves as the title for this post. The carefree silliness and sheer enthusiasm which was packed in the delivery of this line, thankfully not aimed at me, compelled me to look at the rotting, stagnant pit of dark humour with a new vision. I promptly made a mission out of climbing out of this pit, armed fully by the great appreciation which my very brotherly friend (gaming and comic book enthusiast) extends to my feeble attempts at humour.
The words “Poop the shit out”, as the phrase and future saying goes, were vociferously uttered moments before we were to embark on the gastronomical journey of cheesy pizza, yet somehow they had made contextual sense at the time, which I cannot for the life of me recall as I type this out on my miniscule phone screen while seated in the waiting room of my charming doctor. My friend (?) had looked towards me for what I assume was approval, and though I had initially been thrown off wind by the exclamation of the phrase, I soon saw the sense and charm in it, and proudly congratulated him on the flawlessness of his logic. He was, as is quite obvious, pleased that his creation was getting recognition in the real world.
That got me thinking (which, as my frequent readers know by now, isn’t that difficult a task) about how the ever evolving world of humour, both dark and light, had resorted to the few playthings which could be seen littered around town, whether virtual or physical. It pained me to realise that the delicacy of verbal abuse had fallen from innovation at the hands of young and bright minds, to the rehashing of age old classics which, of course, are age old. The same old mechanical drabble of F words and family based insults has taken over our daily interactions, and people have simply stopped using their minds for the creative purposes for which they are meant. How upset would Mother Nature be to see all her efforts of evolution go to waste.
There will of course be that one prude who sat at the corner of the playground during break times, was verbally and physically abused by people without exception, and was the last to discover both porn and masturbation, who will have a moral heart attack at the end of this post (mostly due to this paragraph) because there is a person somewhere in this world asking people to swear away. To you, sir or madam, I’d like to pose a question. How would you like it if tomorrow, all your children could do to verbally defend themselves would be to drop a few haphazard F bombs and have a go at someone’s mother, while their peers (or not really) are sending catastrophic nuclear weapons of insults flying their way.
You, the great prude who has a 9 to 5 job at an MNC and makes and (gasp) saves enough money to buy a house with a (double gasp) garage in the (gasp and choke) suburbs of a quaint town; you are responsible for the death of a beautiful culture. The evolution of insulting humour is the evolution of language and the development of a global community, which today is under the grave danger of extinction. Where are we if we cannot gather over drinks or dinner over Friday night and break a few tables because someone accused someone’s wife of having an STD only seen in dogs (or something much more creative)?
Therefore, at the end of this very short and very, very impulsive post, I’d like to ask you to humbly listen to this anonymous writer who occasionally says things which occupy more and more space every time. Use the gift of language and the invention of the keyboard to discreetly change the world of verbal abuse and make it the shining new beacon of inspiration that it deserves to be.
May you poop the shit out of yourself into your second hand maternity pants which you stole from your trans aunt who habitually comes in her/his pants.