My parents used to wash my mouth out with soap every time I would curse. No shit. There I go again. If they knew how I much I curse as a grown up, they would probably have a bar of soap surgically attached to the inside of my mouth. I still remember when it became ok to say the word “bitch” on prime time television; it was a really big deal on the news because it had never been done before. We have certainly come a long way. Books and movies written by curse word connoisseurs like Quentin Tarantino. The Hateful 8 slings derogatory curse words around as rapidly as the bullets from their six shooters. I was so excited that I walked around the house all day just saying, “bitch, bitch, bitch.” Needless to say, the taste of Ivory soap lingered in my mouth for about a week. “But mom,” I said with a mouth full of bubbles, “If they can say it on tv, why can’t I say it?” She didn’t care and probably gave me the “If your friend jumped off the Golden Gate bridge, would you do the same?” line. And to answer her question, no I would not do that. But I found that saying bitch was really liberating, especially since my parents never cursed-EVER. Now that I am an adult, I wonder how that is even possible. I always wonder about those folks that say “fudge” or “shrek” or “heck.” Come on, this is America-say what you mean, “Fuck that shit, I want that bitch to go straight to hell.” Sorry I have to go wash my mouth out with soap, again.