I cuss too much I guess.
Especially around women and children.
Mostly around my women and children though....in my defense.
In the long run it can be better to just cuss and get it over with Jim.
Let me explain myself.
(The following is a 100% true life story)
Way back when I was in my late 20's, I took in 2 disadvantaged youths.
They'd come from fcked up homes with fcked up parents.
They were both in their mid-teens, It seemed all they needed was a roof over their heads some food and a little guidance to get along in life.
Both were in good physical shape and strong.
I was feverishly flippin' old houses at the time and figured I could get cheap labor while teaching these boys a trade, win,win.
Right away I found nothing could pizz me off more than 2 wayward teen boys, I had a tendency to cuss at them as a result.
Like you Jim, I felt bad about it.
Calling a kid who might not really know who their father might be a little basterd or a son of a bitch was just wrong.
I had to get away from it, I had to righten my ways.
I decided I needed a strong key word that could replace every cuss word in my vocabulary. It had to be a good word and I had to be able to commit it to permanent memory.
I thought long and hard on what word would work and I came up with 'Cowboy',
The word 'Cowboy' holds special meaning, it's emotionally burned into me.
You see, I had this gal staying at the house once that had a cat named 'Cowboy' that she dearly loved, I'm not much on cats but she came with the cat and at the time she seemed worth putting up with a cat to have her around.
All was well up until one snowy azzed day when I was backing the truck outta the yard to run into town and ran over her cat.
I didn't even know I'd run him over until I got back from town and seen him laying in the track my truck had left in the snow.
Cowboy was dead as a hammer and there was no denying I'd killed him.
I scarfed him up and took him up into the treeline to hide him.
This was my first mistake.
I already felt bad about killing him and lieing about it then I had to spent the next two days feeling worse as I watched this gal try to find him.
I fessed up, told her what had happened, I came clean.
Then she wanted me to go get him so we could bury him. Fair enough, I grabbed a old boot box tossed it in the truck and headed up to where I'd tossed him in the timber.
Soon as I got close to the spot I knew I was in trouble, there was pieces of cat everywhere. The coyotes had gotten to him and there was cat fur all over the place.
I drove around a little bit thinking of what to do.
Finally I decided and grabbed an appropriate sized rock, wrapped it in a old shirt and put it in the box.
Thank God she didn't want to see him, we buried the rock in the box just off the driveway and made a wooden cross with RIP Cowboy on it.
I'd lied again.
I'm reminded of this double lie I told every time I return to that property and drive by the rock in the box to this day.
I'll never forget 'Cowboy', that was my word that would replace all cuss words.
I used it for years, it worked marvelously with the boys, they didn't have a clue what was on my mind when I'd scream 'Cowboy' when I'd bitch them out.
It actually worked way to well.
You see, years later, myself and a couple other investors bought a apartment complex that had a swimming pool.
I go cruising by one day to check on the place and the guy we had managing it told me about half our pool furnishings had been stolen the night before.
I took a walk around, all the apartments had sliding glass doors in the back and you could pretty much see into most the units. Didn't take long and I see all our stuff in this apartment, tables, lounge chairs, regular chairs, all of it.
I was pizzed, I hate being stolen from, I headed around to the front door and loudly pounded on it.
This heavy set, African American young man answered the door.
I went off, I told him to get our stuff back to the pool ASAP. He came back with a smartazzed reply.
I blew my top, first words outta my mouth were "LISTEN COWBOY" and off on a rant I went.
Our furnishings made their way back to the pool area.
Two weeks later I got a certified letter in the mail, I was being sued.
It was from the lawyer father of the heavy set African American, pool furniture stealing youth.
I recognized the name right away, he mailed his sons rent payment in the same envelope every month.
He was suing me for verbally attacking his son with racial slurs.
He figured the term 'Cowboy' was referencing his fat azzed sons weight condition (cow) and the fact that he was black as the ace of spades (boy) which was a popular racial term in the day.
I had to hire a lawyer.
Just to keep a long story short, we all got together for a preliminary legal meeting and hashed it out.
I told the same story I've told here and had one of the boys I'd called 'Cowboy' for years and even photos of the cross over the fckin' cats grave with me for the meeting.
The truth set me free.
So Jim, in the long run just cuss and get it over with, just never tell a lie.
