My Aunt Marcella is a hot shit.
Years ago she came to a political debate that I was a participant in. During the question and answer segment, she got on a rant "asking" a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it question of all the other candidates. I think I was supposed to treat her like an anonymous shill... but when it came to my turn to answer, I blew her cover.
I said something like, "If this lady says it's that way, she knows what she's talking about...she's my aunt."
Everyone laughed, and in conjunction with her Irish immigrant nature, she loudly swore at me.
"DAMN IT, Danny, you're not supposed to tell." Everyone laughed harder.
Marcella took after Gramma LaMarsh (Her second husband's name).
When Gramma came to live with us, my Mother warned the kids not to talk to Gramma about politics or religion.
It was like the old Irish joke about a man witnessing a bar fight and saying in a brogue..."Is this a private fight or can anyone join in?"
Hard New York Irish immigrant lanugage was tough, foul and derogratory without being hateful.
Telling a story one Thanksgiving, my wonderful motor-mouth Grandmother was telling the story of the boarding house she ran. Amoung the boarders were two gay guys living there together. So when Gramma came to describe the couple she said, "And then there was the two cock-suckers at the end of the hall."
As a boy, I almost choked on my turkey.
Gramma Mary Cloonan LaMarsh, Uncle George, Aunt Corrine.
George never swears. Actually I think he does swear when talking about Bush.
Anyway, Uncle George is a poet.
Cursing is not elegant, rhythmic nor personal enough for poetry. But for politics ... foul language is more than appropriate.