Cleaning Up My Language
Anselmo approached me the other day, his countenance dour. He seems to think that some voters might find my language objectionable. He thinks words like poop, fuck, snatch, cockmaster, and doucherape might alienate some groups and therefore hinder my chances at the Presidency. You’ll have to pardon Anselmo, he’s not from here. I told him that Americans are strong, like cowboys, and that our minds cannot be sullied by such words or the concepts they refer to. Real Americans are only offended by truly abhorrent words, like tyranny, communism, or humility.
In fact, I believe that my “plain-spokenness” will endear me to the public, since profanity is a part of the American’s very soul. For example, do you remember when Vice President Cheney shot that old man in the face? While there was a big to-do for a while, in the long run I believe the incident made the previously aloof, inaccessible Cheney more human. After all, who hasn’t fantasized about shooting an old man in the face at close range with a shotgun? I believe I’ve made my point fairly clear.
Titburgers, swampcrotch, trouser musk. These are the words I’m referring to; those bawdy old terms that we first heard as youths, perhaps uttered by mistake by our father as he smashed his thumb with a hammer. While he may have immediately felt guilty for uttering such filth in our presence, even at that young age we somehow understood the raw honesty those terms convey. No one hits their thumb with a hammer and screams “rose petal.” That wouldn’t in any way describe the extreme displeasure of the situation. More likely, he would scream something like “Ass-rocket!”
I think the American people crave a similar honesty when it comes to matters of public policy. If I think that a bill is a Twatsack or a Turd Milkshake, I ought to be able to say so. No, Anselmo, Americans are tired of the “bob and weave” nature of modern political discourse. They want a candidate that speaks his mind; tells it like it is. They want a President who will call the Speaker of the House a Cuntbucket, a leader who isn’t afraid to tell President Putin to go surf a choad. Yes, my language can be coarse, I’ll be the first to admit it. But perhaps the world needs coarse language right now. Perhaps it’s our only hope. Think about it.