Profane When Provoked

Hello everyone, my name is Thirsty Daddy.

Crowd: “Hello Thirsty.”

I’m here today because I have a problem, an anger problem. It’s not that I get angry often, far from it. The older I get the fewer things that I seem to care enough about to get angry over them. I’ve mastered the act of “picking my battles” to the point where I’m actually afraid that I’m missing battles, that I’m slowly becoming something of a pushover.

My problem isn’t that I’m violent or destructive when angry. I’ve never hit anybody that didn’t swing first, don’t have holes in the walls of my home or broken IKEA projects that never got put together. I did get mad at myself and broke a golf club three years ago but it’s no longer an amusement that my playing partners look forward to.

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No, my problem is this: I swear when angry, an avalanche of F-bombs that spew forth completely uninhibited. I use it as a noun, verb, adjective, just about in any manner possible outside of subordinating conjunctions. I swear frequently, I swear creatively, and sometimes, unfortunately, I swear loudly.

Most of these outbursts are directed at the television, a politician, pundit, or newscaster igniting my wrath. Referees and officials at sporting events are also often responsible, particularly during football season. Even if its not my team suffering for their presumed incompetence there may be fantasy or other monetary considerations at play.

The dog gets sworn at a lot. A year later and he’s still not a very good listener. He also likes to grab food off the counter, chase rabbits and stand on tables. It’s possible that he’s a bit confused about his name. He only seems to answer to MFer.

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Dumb ass dog

My kids? Well, that’s why I’m here today, that’s the problem. I also swear at them. I’ve done what I feel is an admirable job removing profanity from my everyday conversation but when I get angry those expletives still fly.

Part of the challenge to changing my vulgar ways remains its effectiveness. Since I’m not prone to shouting or losing my temper, a sternly voiced curse word and some bulging temple veins informs the object of my ire that I’m serious. Mouths shut, steps get quickened and behavior changes. Whatever outcome I had been previously unable to achieve is suddenly successful.

Learning new words

I don’t want to have to be that guy, I want people to listen to me the first thirty-seven times I say something. So far the youngest hasn’t started expressing her displeasure in this manner but it’s only a matter of time. I need to be better, to set a better example and to learn to control my tongue.

There may be an economic motivator coming. While attending a picnic this past weekend our shy little girl took it upon herself to chastise an adult for telling another to “shut up.” She was reminded to keep her nose out of adult conversation but not before the amused perpetrator handed her a quarter. Apparently there is a “swear jar” in their household, an idea that appealed to her entrepreneurial nature. She’s intelligent enough to wait for the storm to pass before levying her fines but thankfully not enough to make the correlation between poor behavior and future earnings.

This could get expensive.

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Previously published on Thirstydaddy.com.

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