Category: Other Words

The other day I was thinking about the quirks and idiosyncrasies of the English language, and I think that I have discovered one of the most versatile words; “Fucking.” Think about it- it can serve as a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb.

• Fucking as a noun- Fucking daily is not only a fun way but also an efficient method to melt those unsightly pounds and inches.
• Fucking as a verb- Gerald is fucking the village whore.
• Fucking as an adjective- I have no fucking idea whose that is.
• Fucking as an adverb- I have a fucking huge zit on my butt.

I hope this had been enlightening, and I apologize to any I may have offended, and I also realize that I am probably not the first person to make such an observation.

The other day I was in the shower, and the soap slipped out of my hand. As I bent over to pick it up, I saw something in my shower drain staring back at me. It seemed to give me a menacing, mischievous grin; and I saw it locking its gaze at me. Now I (at the risk of sounding a tad narcissistic) am probably the biggest stud that ever walked the face of the Earth. I had no idea what this little drain-troll could find wrong with me, a modern-day Charles Atlas. I called down to it, “What the heck is so funny? I am the one in the shower, and you are the one caught beneath the grating!” As soon as I uttered these words, he tightened his eyes on me.

I could feel my ears and neck begin to boil. I entreated the beastie to release me from his trance, and he said, “You f—ing moron. You are the one with the water set to 120 degrees. I was only trying to see the 3-D picture above you on the ceiling. I still can’t figure it out.”
“That’s easy, it’s a sailboat.”
“Dammit. I thought it was a naked lady.”

My car got stuck in the mud yesterday. I was out at my mom’s house, and I was getting ready to leave, and I crank ‘er up, and put it into reverse only to find that my car is getting all of nowhere super fast. The torrential downpour never ceased while I was out digging my car out of the mire. It only goes to prove that I hate my car even more. Any other car would have taken it upon itself to help a little, and try to lurch forward when being pushed. Not ol’ Muffin, however. That stupid piece of junk just sat there and acted like a crippled old woman.

The other day, I saw a Port-a-Potty on the side of the road; there wasn’t any rock concert or festival surrounding it; it was just an isolated Port-A-Potty, sort of a contemporary hermitage, if you will. I went up to the door, and it said “vacant,” so I ventured through the threshold. When I reached the other side, I was shocked and appalled to see an older-looking fellow perched up on the plastic throne, pants around his ankles, and the newest issue of U.S. News in his hand. He looked at me and shouted, “Hey you! What the heck are you doin’ in the John with me? Cantcha see I’m busy with my pers’nal bidness?” As I stuttered around an answer, he continued, “Never no mind that, is there anything I can help ye with? Any questions about life? Girls? The caloric content on certain aspartame-addled diet sodas?” Trying to be courteous as well as seize this opportunity for complimentary advice, I asked, “How come oven temperatures vary in higher altitudes?”

He stared at me blankly, until finally he said, “Get the hell out of my office.”

I think I have figured out when I am the most creative- when I am wearing nothing but a towel. (Ladies, hold onto your butts). I might just start walking around in nothing but a towel and make up some excuse like it’s my country’s custom to walk around half-naked. Also, I wouldn’t get one of those towels with the Velcro on them; it would be a plain-Jane bath towel. That way, it’s more of an adventure when I am running and playing Duck-Duck-Goose.