Please stick on this song by my fucking mates Danny, Dave and Ian before reading this post.
Today my mobile phone kept correcting the word “comes” to “cunts”. Patrick Stuart remarked that “Yours must be the only phone I know of that not only recognises ‘cunts’ but actually adjusts towards it”.
It’s true. I have trained my phone, and I’ve trained it well. Obviously I’m going to write “cunts” more than “comes”.
I increasingly dictate to my phone rather than giving myself RSI. The voice recognisifier is a fucking prude fucking prick because it always gives me back this abomination: “c****“
Fucking Asterisks. Lifebane. Here are the situations in which you are allowed to use asterisks:
- You are indicating/labelling a footnote.
- You’re doing markdown and want to make a word **bold**.
- You are writing software to multiply something.
- You’re doing fancy typography cockpuffinery..
- You’re writing a mildly dyslexic book about indomitable Gauls.
If you’re using it to say the unsayable then you are, by definition, a cunt.
Not because it’s hard to grok what you’re saying. The boring practical reasons are
- You’re uglifying the page.
- You are pretending that you’re not doing something while not only doing it but also drawing attention to it. You thick s***.
- You are screwing with my reading experience and giving me a fucking headache.
If you’re going to do prudish crap, at least follow the example of Ivor Biggun and the Red Nosed Burglars, whose 1978 classic The Winker’s Album (misprint) includes the songs “Winker’s Paradise (misprint)”, “I’ve Parted (misprint)”, and “My Brother’s Got Files (misprint)”. Then I can laugh with you, not at you.
But the thing that REALLY makes my fucking blood fucking boil is those bloodpissing books called things like “The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F***“.
YOU GAVE A FUCKING F*** ABOUT THE FACT THAT YOU COULD NOT FUCKING STOMACH HAVING A FUCKING CUSSWORD ON THE FUCKING COVER OF YOUR FUCKWIT BOOK. CUNT.
Your book is dead to me. Death is too good for you. Fuck off and die.
No doubt it’s the fucking publishers and bookstores who actually insist on this prudefuckery, Cockwombles. Seriously, fuck them and the fucks they rode in on. You gives a fuck what they think? You shit-for-brains arsehole (or possibly shit-for-brains asshole).
If this burst of anger has taught me anything, it’s that there are things about which I really do give a fuck.
PS if you like swearing, come join my Facebook group FUCK YOU BUTTON NOW.
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