Here I Go Again

See what I did there, with a simple title I tied in the last post, creating a sense of fluidity on this blog that didn’t exist just moments ago. Ah, the power of words.

Allow me to make the natural jump from Whitesnake to Shakespeare, “what is in a name, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” What the hell is he talking about? Words. They are powerful, true, but they alone do not wield said power, they convey it.

Paragraph three: the point. If a word is only as powerful as the intent with which it is spoken (or written) then what is all the fuss with some words being considered “bad”?

I’ve long held that there is no such thing as a bad word. Shit and shoot don’t mean squat. The tone and implication of using a word, that is where the meaning lies.

Then why am I finding myself censuring my own sailor-like prattle in the company of my children? I don’t watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia until I know their respective ears are a respective distance away. Does this mean I have bitten into the apple of hype?

Apparently. I’ve decided there is nothing cute about a three year old walking around like Andrew Dice Clay. I want even get into the chain-smoking.

As much as I like to think that words are words, I can’t get comfortable with some of the juicier ones being uttered by my children.

I guess I should take the advice that has been heaped upon me by just about everyone I’ve ever met. I should shut my damn mouth.

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