Insult, swear, and curse word generator.
It’s real. Google it.
I succumbed to its lure. I confess: I was drawn in by its politically incorrect, crude, and perhaps even sleazy appeal. And I’m not proud of this lowly moment in my word-finding life. But I did it. I am guilty. Okay? So sue me.
It all started with The Bearded Boob Inspector. Well, no. That’s actually what caught my eye when I googled “creative curses.”
I think you’re going to need some history here. You see, I am driven by very personal, very demanding creative urges. These primitive impulses have led me to create dialects that have been referred to as “hick speak… nearly drove me out of my tree for quite a bit of the book. To supposedly be from New England, he sounded like some sort of redneck from East Bumblefuck, Alabama.” (Thanks, Todd with regard to Beggars and Choosers.) They have led me to write books using the stream of consciousness technique, where I had to fight the automatic use of punctuation in favor of allowing my thoughts to flow freely. I have written stories as emails, blog posts, diary entries and vignettes. The research I have done has been extensive when it comes to gay Christianity and bullying and gender fluidity and physical abuse and depression and alcoholism… and I got caught up in the Foul-O-Matic random curse generator.
Now that you have a sense of my need for a variety of expressive techniques, maybe you will better understand my need for discovering some uncharted territory. The plain and simple truth is that once discovered, I had to use the Foul-O-Matic. There was no room for, “you know, Mia, this might not turn out well.”
Gold-digging dick lover…
One-balled bottom slapper…
I could not deny their refreshing, though possibly lurid, newness. I had to use them in The Art of Hero Worship… but where?
Off topic: Wouldn’t you agree that a little dose of jealousy often moves the two main characters forward in their fledgling romance? Yes, I think so too. (Here is where Foul-O-Matic makes its entrance into The Art of Hero Worship.)
When Liam and Jason, two “straight” guys who survived hell together and are fighting romantic feelings, go out to have a few drinks they meet Lola and Missy Rose. Who just so happen to be interested in enhancing Liam and Jason’s “boys’ night out.” In the sexual way. Yeah. (Wink wink.)
These two girls are aggressive; they see what they want in the form of rugged, burly Liam and sleek, cool Jason. Missy Rose is cooing and shiny and overt in her sexiness, but Lola has a secret weapon for attracting attention. She is a creative curser.
EXAMPLES of Lola’s creative cursing from the text of The Art of Hero Worship:
1. “I don’t think I’ve see you two hunky spunk wankers in here before.” I think this dark-haired girl is trying to be flirtatious but I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s because I’m totally out of practice with the ladies.
2. “You alien ball sacks got yourself girlfriends?” My girl is also obviously much more comfortable with the creative use of crude language, than Liam’s. She looks right at into my eyes. “Don’t you understand plain English—I asked if you’re seeing somebody?”
3. “Hmmm….” Lola is deep in thought. “I think we know how to make a couple of jizz kings’ night out even more fun….” Ginny is right. This girl’s mind might be in the gutter but she definitely needs a new urban-language thesaurus.
And it gets worse….
4. “I’m Lola and she’s Missy Rose, some call us Bourne Sperm Riders.” Ewwww. Still, I reach out to shake Lola’s hand. She apparently has a different idea. Lola pops off of the bar stool and next thing I know, I’m wearing her like an overcoat.
5. “What’s so funny, tit-torch?” Lola doesn’t like being laughed at.
6. “Make that two Long Island iced teas. And Missy, it looks like you got yourself a bearded boob inspector,” my dark-haired girl chimes in with a husky chuckle, and then winks at Liam.
Liam, the bearded boob inspector. It has a certain ring… and I don’t like it.
Yes, there it is, The Bearded Boob Inspector… the creative slur that caught my attention and worked its way into my novel.
The reviewers’ comments, with regard to my creative cursing courtesy of Foul-O-matic, have not been consistently positive. My creativity may possibly have led to a chapter featuring less than believable conversation, because who on earth says alien ball sacks? (FYI, Lola does.)
Well, maybe my writing behavior in chapter 8 of The Art of Hero Worship exemplifies the pinnacle of a novelist’s immaturity. Or maybe it boasts that I have reached the summit of creative confidence. Or maybe it is neither of these. Maybe I just had fun with words.
Call me a criminal. Or call me a scruffy-looking butt dictator. I’m glad I wrote it.