A Profanity PrimerCommentary • death • crime • trends • ISSUE 35•31 • Sep 1, 1999 By T. Herman Zweibel, Publisher Emeritus (photo circa 1911) It enrages me beyond all tolerance to see what has be-come of people these days. There is not one man jack in a hundred with any back-bone any-more! Why, scarcely one man in ten butchers his own swine, wives are no longer taken by brute force, and duels are hardly ever fought, and then only with childish pistols, I am told, not the great spiked leaden mattocks of my youth! Why, the thick and fiery blood of this great Republic must be but a thin, pinkish drool in the veins of its so-called manhood. I am afraid the state of our emasculation has become so advanced, to-day's men can no longer properly curse. Why, just yesterday I perused my mail to see what bile I had inspired in my lessers, and the worst thing anyone had to say about me was that I regularly engaged in rigorous sexual congress with the eliminatory orifice of my own mother! The tepid insult proved to me that contemporary man wouldn't know proper profanity if it were wrapped about his petard and set aflame. Why, back in the good old days, my hated news-paper rival, P. Oliver Gummidge, would call me a "thrice-boiled China-man" and a "hogs-head of sour owl sick!" Now those were curses! None of this effete talk of the tire-some sexual act or of the depressing, twice-yearly prospect of voiding one's urine. They have no part in masculine obscenity! To shock and enrage a full-blooded he-man, one must invoke man-kind's most basic instinctual fears and loathings. Observe, now, as I swear as a proper lusty gentle-man should: William Randolph Hearst is a pendulous-breasted Mennonite wet nurse! He becomes rampant at the very thought of rendering his member available to the suckling pigs! (Note that, although I am just warming up, my profanity is of a much higher quality than that to which you are accustomed.) Pope Leo XIII is a great and noted expert regarding the raping of domestic fowl! He is drunk upon the curdled smegma of many doughty trades-men! President Taft spends his days shrieking like a God-damned woman! Further-more, he regularly seeks the low company of immigrants, card-sharps, assorted boys and dandies, and beasts of the field! Now, that is properly obscene! It also happens to be the truth, which is why I plan to have him garroted by Italian thugs. But that is a story for another time.