The following featured entry was originally written and published by This Fish on her weblog, This Fish Needs a Bicycle. She needs a bicycle "...if not for comfort, at least for entertainment's sake".
"Got dandruff, some of it itches!"
When I was a kid, my dad swore like a sailor. Or rather, a G.I. I'm pretty certain that the depth and breadth of his swears catalog was developed somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam - where he also picked up a love of the drink and one or two pretty little drug addictions. Not that he admitted to that sort of first hand knowledge when we were young. Back then, he'd "read it in a book." Back then, he also used to end all of his swears with, "don't tell your mother."
He'd give Jesus a new, colorful middle name and then top it off by asking us to keep his potty mouth a secret. As though there was any keeping to be done. Mom knew full well what could leak out of his mouth. And while she herself very rarely even ventured into the hells and damns (though, I vaguely recall the shock of hearing her yell the non-family-approved version of "Shoot!" when something once went horribly awry), there was very little she could do about my pop's penchant for obscenity.
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