My first exposure to the ‘F’ word was when I was a kid. My even younger cousin, Billy, jokester that he was, told me to sing Yankee doodle went to town riding on a pony ... holding my tongue. Very old joke. When I got to ‘stuck’ a feather in his cap... he started laughing! I asked my dad what was “fuck” and I never asked again.
One more memory before I get too old to remember... cutting the word fuck out of foam core with an exacto blade and hanging in my dorm at Kent. I was an art student and I thought I was so clever.
I'm suffering from effing cultural shock at work. I went from the hardware industry where everyone swears all the time (my latino boss adorably said "fock") to a university where gosh-darn would be pretty extreme (at least in my department).
Dear #u¢k,
My first exposure to the ‘F’ word was when I was a kid. My even younger cousin, Billy, jokester that he was, told me to sing Yankee doodle went to town riding on a pony ... holding my tongue. Very old joke. When I got to ‘stuck’ a feather in his cap... he started laughing! I asked my dad what was “fuck” and I never asked again.
One more memory before I get too old to remember... cutting the word fuck out of foam core with an exacto blade and hanging in my dorm at Kent. I was an art student and I thought I was so clever.
Love your writing Miss Erin!
I'm suffering from effing cultural shock at work. I went from the hardware industry where everyone swears all the time (my latino boss adorably said "fock") to a university where gosh-darn would be pretty extreme (at least in my department).
I, for one, fucking love the word fuck.
I am irretrievably profane. There have been times when I regretted this fact but as I near 70 it hardly matters. Without #uck I'd be struck mute.