bad words

@$$#*|&!

Well, I can’t find where it is, but somewhere on the Mises.org/blog rules, we are advised to avoid language we wouldn’t use in front of our mothers. I can accuse my own mother of many things, but linguistic prudery is not one of them. At least, not now, and not since I was a teenager, more or less.

I felt “grown-up” when I heard my 9th-grade English teacher talking to an older student about “hard, throbbing” somethingorother. The student, a big Japanese/Hawaiian guy, with whom I’d later become sort-of friends, looked very uncomfortable. The teacher, a middle-aged white woman who lived around the corner from me, looked thoroughly comfortable. Even pleased with herself. This was my introduction to the language and dynamics of academic culture.

My beloved friend of the sponge diary used to quote any foul-mouthed thing from broadcast TV to his mother, just to get a rise out of her. “Pussy Barinko! Wha’d'ya think of that, mom?”

Bart Simpson, on his way home from church, happily repeats the minister’s words: hell, hell, hell, damn, damn, damn! (And Marge tells him she doesn’t want to hear that language outside of church!)

Back in 4th grade, my friend and I went through the music library at our school and discovered the soundtrack album for Hair — this was before the movie.

We were pretty happy to discover these two songs, whose lyrics we repeated to our parents over and over again:

Sodomy

Fellatio

Cunnilingus

Pederasty

Father, why do these words sound so nasty?

Masturbation

Can be fun

Join the holy orgy

Kama Sutra

Everyone!

and

I’m a

Colored spade

A nigger

A black nigger

A jungle bunny

Jigaboo coon

Pickaninny mau mau

Uncle Tom

Aunt Jemima

Little Black Sambo

Cotton pickin’

Swamp guinea

Junk man

Shoeshine boy

Elevator operator

Table cleaner at Horn & Hardart

Slave voodoo

Zombie

Ubangi lipped

Flat nose

Tap dancin’

Resident of Harlem

And president of

The United States of Love

President of

The United States of Love

(and if you ask him to dinner you’re going to feed him:)

Watermelon

Hominy grits

An’ shortnin’ bread

Alligator ribs

Some pig tails

Some black eyed peas

Some chili

Some collard greens

And if you don’t watch out

This boogie man will get you

Booooooooo!

My friend was half-black, and his mom was white, so I think these lyrics especially upset her. Years later, when his family moved to northern California, he happily accepted the nickname ‘Zebra’ from the locals. His mom was less happy with her son’s new nickname.

And while I’m using racially insensitive language, I might as well link to The Party Party (thanks to furyblog for bringing this to my attention) and the track Who’s the Nigga?