It’s the great writer’s debate: To swear, or not to swear, that is the question—
Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous abuse,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of trolls,
And by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heartache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal fame coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the disrespect
That makes Calamity of so long a life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of critics,
The Oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s demise,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodice and lady? Who would these infidels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose burm
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus swearing does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of embarrassment
Is sicklied o’er, with the rosy-cheeked cast of realisation,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their conventions turn awry,
And lose the name of expletive in contempt.
Yes. Thank you, Bill Wobbledagger. That song and dance made famous and bent to the errant will of thousands upon thousands of scribes…upon your bequest and imagination to us all bequeathed. Is it too much to announce the experimental shit and consequently lose the imbued emotion of the outrageous and definitive bastard letter F? Luck is one thing. Duck is an action followed by a grouse. Whatever follows fuck ought to enhance it’s appeal rather than announce its commonality. The banal placement of any expletive to the point of hegemony is sheer boisterous laziness in the extreme. Abuse in expletives, by expletives for the sheer availability of expletives denies the real pungent flavour of emotion they should convey and somehow don’t through abundant use and wear.
Sometimes they are abused to the point of ignorant ignominy and drown in valueless prosperity of use. The London accent surely enhances the dappled use of the vile word age that it even begins to sound marginally pleasant to listen to the litany of almost pious worship of linguistic filth fly so salaciously from their cockneyed lips. It’s the words. The precision of their rude placement and juxtaposition with royalty and class themes. That’s the key to eloquent elucidation and veracity of phrase that ought to expose the grunting life of the purest theater in verbal expression.
Cry foul and let loose the words of rage!