So my little sister calls last night at some reasonable hour, 10:17 ish, she’s walking the dogs and says “I just want to say I love and that I’m sorry your life hasn’t turned out the way you wanted.” I said “I love you too, what?” I should have chosen those words more carefully as I didn’t have space for that many in a row again.
There was a philosopher, I’d remember his name I suppose if I had ever studied philosophy, which always seemed and still seems like a bunch of leisure class dead guys or monks in a cave writing obvious shit in what seems, out of context, brief sound bites. Oh, that sentence ended without any meat on its bone. So this dead guy said something to the effect that there is no true altruism, at best the altruistic act gives the giver a sense of well-being or some such shit. And yeah, true enough, I paraphrase of course, and the worst part of philosophy is that someone can always argue ‘that’s not what that means’, but it is what it means, more or less, yet no one ever says ‘No, take this Christmas goose back, you are way too happy about giving it, come back when you have no feelings one way or the other about this fucking goose for my starving family.”
What I mean, and probably would have brow beat my little sister over, given some brow beating space edgewise, is that the only thing I have to bitch about is being in Michigan and I chose this and for all my bitching, I chose it because it is the high ground. The choice meaning my life is, at present, turning out exactly as I want and I get to put the haredawg flag on the peak of the high ground. Um, figuratively, in the immediate present and geographical location the high ground is where the flat goes up to sea level. Beg pardon, that’s sea the fuck level and/or sea lev-fucking-el. There is precedence for the latter, but it’s off kilter meter wise.
I can make the argument that much of my cussing has to do with meter. I think everyone’s does. Even the fake swearing like, for instance, gosh dang. Nobody can be so mad that they honestly want gosh almighty to actually dang their neighbor all to heck , I’m not even sure gosh has danging abilities or dominion or the keys to heaven and heck. There are other fake cussing, but, according to the bible, Gosh doesn’t give a flying fuck what you say as long as you don’t take his name in vain which is a serious no-no that’ll dang the fuck out of your ass. Funny thing is his name is I Am, I mean he does allude to that’s what his friend call him, God is a job title like your honor, and though it’s not an uncommon name, especially in French, few judges actually have the name honor; they have names like Karen or Charlie.
Shit, a whole paragraph without the point. My point is most cussing has to do with meter. Gosh Dang is nonsense but it’s two whole syllables worth of nonsense. We talk in meter. When someone doesn’t it’s apparent, sound funny to our ear. And old sort of famous blues song has a stanza that goes a lot like this;
My baby Long, great gosh a’mighty, my baby tall
I say she long, great gosh a’mighty, my baby tall
Sleep wit’ her head in the kitchen n’ her big feets in the hall.
Great gosh a’mighty could just as well be oogalee booga. It just brings the meter home. If you skip those five syllables you have a long long way to go to get to the rhyme. The bass player will quit as will any drummer this side of Ringo the fuck Starr. I think The Fuck was his moms maiden name. No Offense to The Fuck’s. Any doubting the fuck Thomas in the audience (it’s a small one, not hard to spot him and/or her) can look the fucking song up; She caught the Katy. Maybe someone like Rage Against The Machine covered it and switched great gosh a’mighty with, I don’t know, worship Satan well, but if you find someone like Taj Mahall doing it, it’ll be great gosh a’mighty. If youtube has a video of me in the shower singing it, well, you won’t be listening. Funny how when the jaw drops the ears narrow.
Aw, shit. I thought I had something to say. I was mistaken.
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