I have a resolution to speak properly, good diction et al, spell correctly and vacuum more often. However, I am completing abandoning any form of ironing whatsoever.
It has come to my attention, again, that when I speak I sound like a drunken deck hand on furlough. Well, that’s not very original is it, and apparently neither is my use of off putting colloquialisms ad nauseam.
I am told a good portion of currently popular verbal offensives have an etymology derived from Anglo Saxon colloquialisms; I resist the urge to refer to them as anal Saxon… sort of.
I am further inspired to upgrade my vocabulary by my recent adventures in volunteering at SAK Comedy Lab. They perform improvisational comedy without the convenience of foul language. Who can’t get a laugh with a few well timed f-bombs and show stopping mother f-ers? But these talented improvisers garner guffaws five days a week sans vulgarity and overt innuendo.
But back to the dilemma of my potty mouth and how to clean it up: First and foremost I shall have to break the habit of automatically diverting to my plethora of pornographic utterances regardless of the situation. Suffice it say, dropping an F-bomb in church is exceptionally bad form. I simply must make a concerted effort to find a more creative way of expressing myself, by way of which resulting in a more upper crust, well read, vernacular.
I must abandon the nomenclature of the auto-obscenity afflicted sect. I must work to make the synapses in my brain fire on all cylinders electrifying the cerebral mass that imparts, wit, satirical repartee and really big words that makes others scratch their overly small heads.
I must put to rest the lazy gelatinous grey matter that reverts to smutty colloquial jargon without the effort put forth to breathe through my nose.
I must never again, whilst playing a wholesome game of Wii billiards with my sainted eighty year old mother, express my displeasure with a missed shot by shouting, “Go in the dirty hole you cock sucker!”