Everybody Curses, I Swear! Read online

  2. Cursing is FUN. I’ve got a bucketful of words and a laundry list of celebrities saying them to make my case. I mean, when you’ve got Robert Downey Jr. gleefully shouting out, “You son of a cock-loving whore!” or Leonardo DiCaprio bustin’ out “fuckin’ retaahded” in a heavy Boston accent, that’s some seriously good times. And don’t just take my word for it either. After Jennifer Aniston busted out, “Go see the fuckin’ Millers!” with a cute smile on her face to a roomful of laughter, I responded, “It feels good, doesn’t it? It makes us just feel good all under,” and she replied, “It’s tingly!!” with an uncontrollable quiver.

  3. Cursing is cathartic. Sometimes the most effective way to communicate a thought is to just let it fly like Kaley Cuoco’s “You can say ‘fuck’?? Been waiting all day!” or Gillian Anderson bustin’ out, “Fuck you, you fuckin’ fuck!”’cause she needed to get it out of her system or director Terry Gilliam, who couldn’t help but exclaim, “Fuckin’ awesome!” when he realized we were uncensored.

  4. Cursing makes you a human thesaurus. Pulp Fiction star Samuel L. Jackson believes “motherfucker” is one of the most versatile words in the English language. “It works for so many things,” he told me. “I’m on the golf course; people three fairways away know that if I hit a bad shot, ‘MOTHERFUCKER!’ Or if I hit a great shot it’s, ‘YEAH, MOTHERFUCKER, YEEEAH! That’s my friend … that’s my motherfucker right derr.’ ‘Ay, motherfucker, what’s up?’ That’s cool. And then you can say something that’s really bad. ‘Aw, that was a motherfucker … horrible.’ Or if it’s really cool: ‘OOH! That shit’s a MUTHAFUCKA!’ Sometimes you have to go ‘muh … thur … fuck … er’ and sometimes you go ‘muh-fuhkah.’ You know it works.”

  5. Cursing instigates thoughtful philosophical discussions. Once I interviewed prolific writer Aaron Sorkin about his Oscar-winning script The Social Network. In the movie, Facebook-founder Mark Zuckerberg was called a dick and an asshole. I didn’t want to do the same standard questions Sorkin had heard before, so I, naturally, asked him, “What’s worse? Being a dick or an asshole?” Instead of being disgusted and walking out, he laughed, and we totally engaged in a tit for tat over the merits of the D and A. At the Argo junket, in response to whether you can unfuck a fucked situation with carefully crafted bullshit, Ben Affleck responded, “Yeah, most things in life require carefully crafted bullshit, it turns out. At least in Hollywood. ’Cause that’s what we do. We make bullshit and we ship it to the world.” That’s the beauty of cursing … and democracy.

  Cursing isn’t evil. They’re just words, and I’ve always believed that language should never be a barrier. Having said that, you’re still going to run into a few jackasses out there who see being uncensored as an opportunity to showcase their hate and ignorance. But it’s not about the words; it’s about the meaning. It’s not about the use; it’s about the intent. I’ll admit I have interviewed more than my fair share of “geniuses” who throw around f****t or n****r like confetti. It’s very odd to be so ignorant, especially after being so media-trained and living at a time when we’re supposed to be a bit more enlightened. There are two actors that specifically come to mind. One, in particular, is a very well-known white actor who has to be the biggest offender of the N-word, but he appears in like every African-American movie and has adopted a false sense of entitlement to the word. As if, somehow, that makes it okay? WTF! I mean, look how well it worked out for Paula Deen. Another is a moderately famous white TV actor from a former prime-time soap, who shall also remain nameless, who uses the N-word with abandon because, it seems, he’s out to prove that just because you’re famous, it doesn’t mean you’re smart. Without his knowledge, we totally saved his ass and edited around his colorful personality. You’re welcome!

  But, again, they’re just fucking words. If you take away all of the outside noise, they mean nothing. They only matter if the people whom they are directed at are offended, and they have a right to be offended if they want to be. Personally, I never use either of those words. On the flip side, I have a lot of gay male friends who call each other f****t affectionately. In fact, my best friend and wardrobe stylist, Quentin Owens, is African American and gay (what a drunk Mel Gibson might call “a double threat”), and he and his friends call each other f****t as a term of endearment. When anyone says he’s black or crosses the line and calls him the N-word, he simply shuts them down by saying, “I prefer to be called colored.” He decided to own all of it. There’s nothing I love more than when people take something that was intended as an insult, reclaim it, and turn it into a powerful statement. Oprah and Jay Z had a big beef about the N-word. Oprah says it shouldn’t exist; Jay Z says they’re taking the word back from the white man, just like how my gay friends are reclaiming f****t and changing the meaning. Fun fact: Did you know that the word “coffin” used to just mean box? But it became so associated with dead people being in them, it ended up only being used in that context. So, if you want to say, “Think outside the coffin” in your next meeting, you wouldn’t be wrong.

  Anyway, the message I’m trying to convey here is that it’s all about context and intent. To borrow from the old adage “It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity”: It’s not the words; it’s the stupidity. Remember, curse words are not exclusive nor do they discriminate. Unfortunately, people are, and they do. But we can’t allow the ignorance of the few to ruin the verbal bliss of the many. When we have so many beautifully descriptive and cathartically wondrous words to choose from in our lexicon of rudeness, why wouldn’t we use them all?

  Speaking of, we haven’t even talked about the word “cunt” yet, and I’m warning you, it’s all over this book! Relax, I don’t mean literally! I once read this piece about cursing in The New Republic, and it said, “Etymologically, cunt is more feminist than vagina, which is dependent on the penis for its definition, coming from the Latin for ‘sword sheath.’ Rather than being a taboo word, cunt was the general descriptive term for the vagina.” Note to self: Use “sword sheath” in my next sext or phone call with my gyno.

  Used in an aggressive way, “cunt” can be scary, but, then again, so can any word. Any word can also be dirty. It can be whatever you want it to be. In fact, ever since Steve Carell wooed Elizabeth Banks with “Hope you have a big trunk, ‘cause I’m putting my bike in it” in the film The 40-Year-Old Virgin, let’s just say sliding your dandy horse into a dickie has never been the same! Case in point, when I interviewed Demi Moore and David Duchovny for The Joneses, not one traditional curse word was uttered, but the interview was filthy and engorged with possibilities:

  Me: So, the whole gist of this film is you have to make very sure that there’s a very strong UNIT. Is that true?

  Demi: (Laughing.) That our UNIT is working!

  David: (Smiling.) Ya coined a phrase.

  Me: Does the size of the UNIT matter?

  David: (Smiling.) Oh boy!

  Me: Mmhmm.

  Demi: You know it’s all in how (Starts laughing.) you use it (Then loses it.) … okay. (Collecting herself.)

  David: (Playing it up and pretending like his unit is being judged.) If you guys wanna talk about shoes, I’ll leave the room … it’s fine.

  David: (After taking a second to make him feel better.) We kind of become, oddly, a real family, you know.

  Me: You become a bigger UNIT?!

  David: (David and Demi start chuckling again.) Yeah, we become a bigger UNIT.

  Demi: That’s the heart of the movie and it’s the dysfunction that … um … (Starts laughing realizing she went right back into the hole.) I think everyone relates to …

  Me: Nobody wants a dysfunctional UNIT, Demi!

  Demi: I don’t want a dysfunctional UNIT!

  David: I am drawing the line here. That’s decadent. (Demi and I start laughing again.) There we have it.

  Me: (Triumphantly.) This is what happens when things go wrong with the UNIT!

  As you can plainly see, much like beauty, cursing is in the eye of the b
eholder.

  One thing you should know about me is I curse out of love, not hate. I choose to make curse words fun and funny. It’s not always easy. During a press junket for The Departed, starring Matt Damon, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Jack Nicholson, I had to make a conscious decision about how to make something funny instead of just raunchy. The movie was a serious Oscar contender for Best Picture, so everyone was taking it all very seriously. There was a scene where Jack Nicholson’s character pulls out a big black dildo in a theater, and there was no way I wasn’t going to ask about it! It was a big question in my head: Do I specifically say in the interview, “Jack pulls out his cock,” or do I refer to it in some other way? “Cock” could come off a little extreme in this sensitive scenario. In the end, I asked Matt Damon about “Jack’s junk.” The alliteration made it cute instead of crude. He got so excited to talk about “Jack’s junk” that it ended in him doing an impersonation of Jack in that “Jack voice” saying, the scene could use a big black cock! It ended up becoming this beautifully blue moment. A toast to Jack’s junk and … a little creative cursing!

  Cursing is all about being inventive. With all the interviews I’m doing, I’m always learning new ones. When I hear something I’ve never heard before, it’s a wonderful moment of discovery. Like I recently learned fartleberry and shitweasel and had to share them immediately on Twitter. Being a mentor is very important to me. I welcome you all to follow me and learn the way of the filth.

  With that in mind, if you’re a beginner itching to dip your toe into the desert hot spring spa of swearing but are struggling to get comfortable bringing the words to your lips, have no fear for I am here. Start off by learning some harmless words that sound incredibly vulgar. Words so innocuous you can easily incorporate them into your everyday conversations with your boss, your parents, your kids, and even your pastor. Words like bumbailiff, bumboat, bumfiddler, clatterfart, cockapert, cockchafer, cockbell, dik-dik, dreamhole, fanny-blower, fartlek, fuksheet, fuksail, fukmast, invagination, jaculate, jerkinhead, kumbang, kumpit, lobcocked, nestle-cock, nodgecock, pershittie, pissasphalt, sack-butt, sexagesm, sexangle, sexfoiled, shittah, skiddy-cock, tetheradick, tit-bore, tit-tyrant. Daily use of these words will help you perfect your new verbal toolbox in a guilt-free environment. Think of them as training wheels for your brand-new verbo-cycle! And, in no time at all, you’ll graduate from tying a fuksheet to the fukmast to becoming a master of “fucking shit up!” Trust me when I tell you that a dip in the Jacuzzi of juvenile jargon is good for the spirit.

  My love of cursing has led me on a quest to find the most original and hilarious swear words. Believe it or not, sometimes I’ll sit in my office and write a bunch of swears down to see if anything catches my eye. I know, I know, I need a hobby or a boyfriend. I’d prefer a boyfriend who is a hobby but that’s a different book, too.

  I like making up new swear words and you can, too. Not feeling that inspired? You’re not alone. Facebook actually did a study of their users and found that simple ol’ shit is the most popular swear word used on their site. Here are some other fascinating stats from their research:

  • In a three-day period, shit appeared 10.5 million times, fuck 9.5 million, and bitch 4.5 million. Douche only got forty-five thousand mentions (and they were probably all about Justin Bieber but that has not been officially tabulated).

  • Pussy and dick are more common with guys; cock is more popular with the ladies.

  • Fuck is more popular in the West, the only region where it outranks shit.

  • Dick and pussy rank highest in the Northeast.

  • Cock and pussy are more popular in the South.

  • Asshole is the word of choice in the Midwest.

  • The older you are, the more likely you are to use darn, crap, and shoot.

  We can do better than this. And to help you, I’ve developed …

  THE SWEAR GENERATOR!!!!!!!!

  (FYI, when you read that, you should hear a very deep voice that echoes.)

  THE SWEAR GENERATOR!!!!!! (You definitely heard the voice that time.)

  That’s right, just like the Web site that will generate your Wu-Tang name, I invented something that works 99 percent of the time. I figure anything that works at a higher percentage than condoms is okay to unleash on the public. It’s really simple and fun for the whole family. Well, it’s fun for my whole family. I can’t assume everyone is as twisted as we are.

  The generator works like this …

  Pick two curse words, a verb, and an adjective. Then arrange them like you see below.

  Swear, verb (with “ing” at the end), adjective, swear.

  Here are a few examples:

  Fuck and cunt (two swears), jump (verb), and blue (adjective).

  Fuck-jumping-blue-cunt.

  That is a pretty good one for our first try! I actually horse laughed by myself at my desk. Let’s try one more.

  Ass and motherfucker, punt and sweaty turns into …

  Ass-punting-sweaty-motherfucker.

  An ass-punting, sweaty motherfucker is definitely not someone I want to have lunch with, but it is now in my top ten swears of all time.

  This is a good time to bring up the one rule that you should remember when plugging a curse word into the generator. Any time you use swears like motherfucker/cocksucker/assmuncher they should come at the end, never at the beginning. Look at me giving lessons in swearing. In the past three months, I’ve called everyone I know and told them to pick two swears, a verb, and an adjective, and when they spit out their own personal swear, they are way happier than they probably should be. It truly is the gift that keeps on giving. Like herpes, only way better.

  Have fun with the Swear Generator and reading Everybody Curses, I Swear! If you see me on the street, definitely come up and teach me a new one!

  —CK

  1

  FUCK YOU GRANDMA!

  Well-behaved women seldom make history.

  —Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

  I guess I was always a foul-mouthed little shit, or as my parents would say, “Experimental with my words.” I shouldn’t have been, considering I had a pretty squeaky-clean upbringing in Buffalo, New York. It wasn’t like I was a bad kid from a bad family. Quite the opposite, in our community, my family was considered upstanding, hardworking, and humble. My grandparents on both sides were devout Catholics and went to church dutifully every Sunday. My parents didn’t really swear unless it was at an inanimate object or when my dad would try to shave our sheepdog each summer. Both situations were more farcical than anything else. I can still hear my mom throw down with a can of Spam while my dad went all biblical on a pile of hair with legs we called Peppy. My dad, who owned a gym and appeared on local and regional TV and radio shows as a health and fitness expert, was so well-known and well-liked, I call him the unofficial mayor of Buffalo. My mom was an entrepreneur who helped my dad and my uncle start and build their respective businesses, as well as being supermom to me and my brother and sister. Now you can see where I got that fire in my belly from.

  I come from a big family. Well, it’s actually small for a typical Irish-Catholic family, where size is a direct correlation between drinking and a lack of birth control, but you get my drift. On my mom’s side, I have eight uncles, two aunts, and eight cousins. On my dad’s side, I have two aunts and seven cousins with whom my brother, sister, and I spent a lot of our time. Most of us kids pretty much lived at my dad’s parents’ house, which was right down the street from our grade school. Mind you, afternoons at my grandparents’ weren’t the nonstop eighties dance party you might be imagining right now. It was more like an extension of school with all the food groups represented. Each afternoon, we were exposed to a rigid curriculum of gym, study, recess, dinner, and naptime. All under the watchful eye of my Grandma Peggy, a real honest-to-goodness teacher who had us in such a state of lockdown that I’d swear she could conjugate the “chemistry of thought” if given the opportunity. We were allowed to have fun as long as we were learni
ng something. Which makes it all the more interesting that the very first entry in my lifelong naughty-word manifesto happened here of all places.

  In order to truly appreciate this defining moment in my life, it’s important to know my grandparents. Grandma Peggy was an English and French teacher who was as loving as she was strict. When she said, “Please excuse my French,” she actually meant French. Grandpa George was a gentle soul and a devoted husband, quiet and reserved. A simple working-class hero who never took any shit from anybody and was a lifelong loyal employee of the Ford Motor Company. For my grandmother, being a teacher wasn’t just a profession; it was a way of life. She yearned for knowledge the way the Kardashians yearn for attention and laser hair removal. Well, almost as much. She loved to teach, to talk, to argue, and to reason. So much so that my grandfather would routinely turn off his hearing aid in order to escape the daily verbal onslaught known as light after-dinner conversation. No one was safe. I remember that any time I would send her a card or write her a letter, I could look forward to having it mailed back to me all marked up and corrected in red with a grade. There were days when I felt like I was a supervillain and my crime was the … gasp … overuse of the dangling participle. That’s a lot of pressure when you’re five.

  The point is that Grandma Peggy was such a grammatical gangster, a stickler, so proper and ultra-conservative that her be-all, end-all F-word was “fart.” Anything beyond that was inconceivable. I do take a little pleasure in the fact that my grandma had a game-ender curse word, and I loved her very much for it. Plus, she secretly told me I was her favorite because I always took my naps right on schedule. Hey, you take the wins where you can get them, okay?!

  Having said that, we come to the dawn of my myth, my legend, my reason to pontificate about facts that I am marginally familiar with. The right given to me by the celebrity Gods that bestow anyone who has a brush with fame the belief that what they say matters. It so happens that the beginning of me took place on the occasion of my third birthday. It was a Tuesday. An unexceptional Tuesday. It was unremarkable in every way except that it yearned to be a Wednesday. The story, which was told to me by my father through mime and song, as is the tradition of our clan, goes that my entire family had gathered at Grandma Peggy’s home for a party. It was a festive occasion, and everyone had gathered around the famous pink table in the kitchen, eating my aunt Maryanne’s nacho dip, drinking rum and Cokes out of those old glass Coke bottles that Grandma hid in the garage. I was perched in my high chair, taking in all the activities and enjoying being the center of attention. My grandmother was busy boiling hot dogs on the stove with her back to us. The room was bustling with chatter from the various conversations happening between my cousins, parents, and friends.… It was, perhaps, that uncomfortable din that permeated the kitchen that prompted my grandma to firmly tell everyone to “settle down” as if we had all just come into her class from recess. Such moments are often mood killers at a party, like stepping on a dog turd right in the middle of telling your friends just how good the fresh grass feels beneath your bare feet. But today something else quite unexpected happened. As the noise in the room quickly died down, suddenly and out of the blue, I dropped three words that changed the course of history: