Auntie Doris’s That’s Swearing #12: The F word, the C Bomb and the B

imageGentle reader, I sincerely hope that you have enjoyed our little excursion into the world of foul language over the past two weeks. I also hope that you are now able to swear with confidence, knowing when to use rude words, what they mean, and when to avoid using them. However, there are some words that should never be used in polite company under any circumstances. I blush to imagine that you know what they are, and I trust that you don’t need me to go writing them out in full for you to be sure. I have some elderly readers and I really don’t want to put any strain on their weakly beating hearts.
Some people think that using these words is big and clever. And surprisingly, it’s not just those ruddy gangster wrappers either. My nephew Michael has been heard to utter them on more than one occasion, and although I have tried to alter his behaviour, my influence can only go so far. To be honest, men are men, and many of them have no more sense than schoolchildren who think that the language of the gutter is something to be proud of. There are always alternatives to these words, so no one, particularly no lady, should ever have to stoop so low as to say one out loud.
The F word, refers to the act of having carnal relations. As everyone knows, this is a special act which should only really take place between two people in a loving, caring relationship. Or maybe at a stretch, two people who have some feelings of each other, even if for one of them this may mean a sense of duty. Sometimes it might occur between two people who are very, very drunk, or maybe just very, very excitable because of their hormones. In my opinion this act should never be used as the basis for a cuss word, and anyone who does use it so ought to have their mouths washed out with carbolic.
Same with the C Bomb. I understand this to be a crude reference to a lady’s front bottom. Her fragrant garden of pleasure, a bit like the Pleasure Gardens at Withernsea. Why anyone would want to use the Pleasure Gardens at Withernsea, or anything like them as a horrible swear word like that is beyond me. If they do then they have obviously never had any pleasure there is all I can say on the matter. Plenty of people used to take a kite to Withernsea in my day, but not all of them managed to get it up. Those that couldn’t manage it were usually foul mouthed so and so’s.
Finally the B. Which apparently means someone who not only doesn’t know who their father is, but who’s mother probably doesn’t know either. There are more people in this position than you might think, and to make a swear word out of it isn’t right in my book.
F.C.B. Apparently it’s a ruddy Spanish football team or something. But in my book it is three words to avoid.
Some alternatives to the F, C and B words:
F: Flipping, Flaming, Chuffing, Blinking, Ruddy, Sodding, Carnal.
C: Front Bottom, Lady Garden, Mary, Lizzie Dripping, Wee Wee, Boreham Wood, Tufnell Park, Ladbroke Grove
B: Beggar, Bugger, So and So, Rascal, Tinker, Sod, Pillock.

Auntie Doris’s That’s Swearing #11- Shite Arses, Toe Rags, and Scrotes.

imageMake no mistake about these cuss words. They are Tory cuss words. They are words used by the comfortably off to belittle those poorer than them. To dehumanise them, so that it doesn’t matter if they are used, abused or disregarded. “The great unwashed,” “the underclass,” people who live down Benefits Street. “Yes I know that the minimum wage for under 18s is £3.72 an hour, but that law wasn’t designed for the sort of toe rags that work for me, a pound an hour is more than enough for them!”
To make matters ruddy worse, people who are not all that well off sometimes use them to belittle people even less well off than them. “Look at him, what a shite arse, in his cheap clothes. They aren’t even in fashion any more!”
When people are treated as worthless and spoken of in those terms, then no one should be surprised if they become unpleasant characters as they try to gain a bit of dignity. “Those Scrotes on the council estate, one of them had the cheek to throw an egg at me the other day!” “It’s a good job he missed, Prime Minister, it would have been very inconvenient to have to have your suit dry cleaned.” “Ohh, I wouldn’t have bothered, these things happen. I would have just got a new one on expenses.”
“Shite arses” obviously comes from the concept of the undeserving, lazy poor. Someone who can’t even be bothered to wipe his arse properly is hardly going to be “arsed” to put a decent day’s work in. Of course, for most of those listed in Burke’s Peerage, the last time they put in a decent day’s work is a dim and distant memory, if they ever did at all. Then again, they probably have maids and servants who wipe their arses for them.
“Toe rags” is a phrase which comes back from the time when many poor people couldn’t afford shoes. Especially for their children, what with the rate that kiddies feet grow at. So instead, they used to wrap strips of material around their feet to give them some protection from rough surfaces and the cold.
“Scrote” is short for scrotum, which is the medical name for a man’s ball bag. In the days before the invention of Monsieur Talcum’s amazing health giving powders, men’s ball bags were generally stinky, sweaty, and generally unclean. In the case of my Raymond, the work of Monsieur Talcum was all but in vain, as his scrotum was usually in an unappealing condition. But to compare another human being to a wrinkled and unpleasant pouch of skin, just because they are poor, uneducated, or out of work is a typical trait of the ruling classes. Those who traditionally harp on about the importance of creating wealth, good education and full employment.
There are very few situations when it might be appropriate to use these words, although it may be useful to employ them against the very people who use them so willingly against others.
(i) Cameron, the Shite arse, he should look at the mess in his own underpants before he starts criticising others.
(ii) Osborne, the ruddy Toe Rag, bleating on about Austerity measures, I don’t imagine he ever scrims on shoes for his little Luke and Liberty!
(iii) Gove, the Scrote. My Raymond has more common sense in his ball bag than Gove has in his skull.