The Best Time I Ever Swore at Someone
Years ago, I was on the platform at 96th Street when a packed 1 train arrived during morning rush hour. I was standing next to a sweet little old grandma-type lady, and as we began to board, this tall skinny guy in his 30s wearing Lycra gym pants and iPod headphones (the iPod had just come out) came running down the stairs behind us, pushed the little old lady to the side very deliberately with a swipe of his hand, and jumped on the train. Everyone around rushed to attend to the lady, steadying her and picking up her purse while shooting mean looks at the guy as the doors closed, astonished at both his brazenness and impeccable timing. I couldn't believe he was getting away with pushing an old lady down! Just then, something amazing happened:
The doors re-opened, and for the next 30 seconds, three or four bystanders and I launched into a verbal abuse free-for-all as the guy stood on the packed train just two feet from us, unable to move. "You pushed this lady you fucking asshole!" "Take off your fucking headphones, douchebag!" "Fuck you, you fucking bully!" "Nice shorts, we can see your tiny dick!!" (Um, that might have been me.) Even the old lady pointed at him and said "Yeah, fuck you!" much to our delight.
The man stood there sweating, his head turned to the side, avoiding eye contact and enduring the judgmental looks of his fellow passengers, who had figured out the story in seconds. After what seemed like forever, the train left, another one came, and we all went our separate ways, each satisfied with our little moment of crowdsourced subway justice. —Lindsay Robertson
I was at a dive bar in Brooklyn when this sloppy, nasty man in maybe his late 40s leaned toward me and said, “I know you stole my eight dollars — give it back.” I was like, “What?” and he was like, “I know you took it — it was right here.” And he patted this spot on the bar where money had apparently once been, and then gave me this disgustingly plastered, barfily lecherous look. I knew the people behind the bar, I was with a group of friends, and I did NOT take the money in question, so I got, like, INSTANTLY filled with rage: “Are you kidding me!? I didn’t take your money!” And he was like, “Yes you did, I saw you.” “Fuck you, if I took your money, where the fuck did I put it, then?” “Your purse.” So I grabbed my purse, opened it up, and was like, “Let’s fucking look for it, let’s look for your eight fucking dollars, you stupid motherfucker!” At that point my friends pulled me away to the other side of the bar, but the dude kept turning around and staring at me. Then we left! But ooh I was so angry and it felt so good to yell at him like that. I hate him. But I love these eight dollars that I got! JK, I didn’t take his money. —Edith Zimmerman
Chavs — you have heard of them? Well, during high school in London my best friend and I made friends with a couple of male chavs. We were sitting in Starbucks and they came in their red and orange puffy jackets and asked us if we would like to go have sex with them in the bathroom. Well, no, but we would like to be friends. Months later we had somehow established ourselves as threats to the female chavs who considered these two — "Red" and "Orange," we had taken to calling them, then in summer when the jackets came off, Paul and George — love interests, and I suppose you could say we both almost lost our lives in 10th grade: we were walking around near the home of these two incredibly close British friends of ours when a giant flower pot fell about three feet in front of us and smashed into many pieces. For some reason this did not deter us. A few minutes later I was surrounded by a number of large female chavs. My BFF had escaped. Profanity was issued in both directions. Somehow I squeezed out of the chav circle and started running down the street. They lumbered after me, moving more side-to-side than forward. I sort of skipped around on the sidewalk down the block, looking at my watch, waiting for them to get there. I think one of them might have been puffing on a cigarette while running. I yelled a variety of rude taunts about their physical appearance, which was and is a ubiquitous hodge podge of hair gel, hoop earrings, and Burberry and Hatchett fashions. None of which I'm very proud of — "chav" itself being an adequate use of profanity. But running away was a joy. —Liz Colville
When I first moved to America from Hong Kong I didn't speak for weeks because I was self-conscious about my really thick English accent and my parents thought it would be a RIOT if we moved to bumblefuck Texas and have me go to a school that had metal detectors, mandatory see-through backpacks (clear bags; full hearts AMIRITE?) and 4,000 kids. The food, let met me you, was deelish! Their keen adult instincts were spot on and it ended up being really funny and nowadays we howl about it for HOURS once we get going, but at the time I had my doubts.
Anyballs, there were a bunch of football players in my "Business Math" class — because pre-cal stopped being a requirement — and one day when we were just sitting around LEARNING HOW TO SIGN PERSONAL CHECKS (true story) they started picking on this girlnerd who wore things like frilly neck gators (you know those gross fake shirts that protestants wear) under wide-wale corduroy double breasted blazers : ( and was weirdly not smart (always shocks me when that happens). She had this thing for unicorns, and that was awesome except that every time you even HINTED at a dead unicorn she would start crying. Like, EVERY TIME. And she would really wail and it got very car-alarm after a while.
So these football players were doing that Bubba Gump shrimp thing with dead unicorns (unicorn is the fruit of the sky… unicorn kabobs, unicorn creole, unicorn gumbo blablabla) and she was crying and I could not believe I had moved to Texas at 14 when I'd been dating this INSANELY dishy rugby player from the American school who I'd just heard was seen waiting in the line for the movie theater with this one chick who was 13 (slag!) from the French school and I was obsessing and obsessing and getting a real good lather going and SNAPPED to scream the following: “OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE LEAVE THE SPASTIC ALONE YOU NECKLESS TWATS.” Except that for some reason people in Texas who straight-up strafe vowels, like NBD, pronounce it “TWOTT” and not “TWAATT” and no one had any idea what I was talking about and was so shocked that the token gook thus spake that I felt weirdly compelled to leave but faltered (did that uggo animated GIF up-down thing in my chair for a splitsecond OMGAWG IT WAS LONG ENOUGH) and was so flustered that I flung the door open ON MY FACE and chipped a tooth. I was really popular after that. Oh, and I murdered everyone. —Mary HK Choi
Have you ever sworn?
Still not following you on the twat pronunciation, you mean like "prat?"
YES exactly. Like Prat. Or Pratt. Which is really the perfect name for that school.
HEY NOW.
YOU'RE AN ALLSTAR GET YOUR GAME ON, GO PLAY!
When will you guys crowdsource for I almost went to third base with a homeless person but figured it out and ran into a cab and locked the door while he was banging on the window?
I'd like to direct you to notes@thehairpin.com
A few winters ago, I went for some happy hour drinks at a bar across the street from my office. I needed to be on a 9 pm conference call and wisely kept drinking til 8 57. My first thought was to hail a cab and dial into the call from my cell. But when I got to the corner, there were no cabs in sight so I dialed into the call, stood on the curb and waited for the light to change so I could go back to the office. I then hear a voice screaming "young lady! young lady!". I looked around and there were four old (like, 85+) people standing up the street from me. The oldest guy was wobbling on his cane and yelling at me: "young lady, we were here first". I didn't respond to him because (1) I was obviously trying to cross the street not hail a cab, (2) I'm on the phone, and (3) who tries to hail a cab from the middle of a block then get pissy when someone stands on the corner? Seriously!
But the man did not let up. He kept squealing, "young lady" over and over. So in a moment of sheer rage, I put down the phone, turned around and yelled at full volume: "I'M NOT TRYING TO STEAL YOUR MOTHERFUCKING CAB, YOU DUMB FUCK. I'M JUST TRYING TO CROSS THE MOTHERFUCKING STREET. SO QUIT FUCKING YELLING AT ME." For the record, that shut him up. Also, I was so upset at that point I ran down the street and stole the next cab. I know, I know, I'll see you all in hell.
FUCK THE FUCKING OLDS!!!!!!!
Give me back my $8, Edith.
Fuck you! I spent it
OMG where has this blog been all my life. It's kind of the happiest part of my day. No pressure!
I was waiting for the light to change at 42nd Street to get to the Times Square subway station, when this little old lady started cursing to the high heavens. I look over and she's staring right at me, saying that me and my countrymen are evil, are ruining the world and should generally not be allowed to live. After I caught on to what she was saying, I replied, "Go fuck yourself!"
I was so confused as to why she'd be harassing someone for being American in Times Square. Now I realize that she probably thought I was any number of swarthy-looking nationalities that are bringing down humanity.
Oh man ladyChavs are the WORST. PIKEY BINTS IN PRIMARK TRACKSUITS, INNIT??? Also, love the word for the Australian chav: bogan. Sounds EXACTLY as it should.
Chavs are terrifying! Got into a screaming match with a couple of chavs who nearly hit my husband & I when they ran a red light through the pedestrian crossing in London. I should have shut the hell up as we probably would have gotten stabbed; fortunately a van (!!) full of police officers pulled up about 90 seconds later.
Terrifying indeed! The first day I was in Glasgow, I was walking down Sauchiehall St and the first thing I saw was a group of about five lady-chavs beating the shit out of each other as a couple of coppers lazily approached them.
The coppers broke it all up as knives were being drawn, but no arrests were made and all the girls simply disappeared. Needless to say, I never told my dear mama in Melbourne about that. Our bogans have much to learn about being chavs.
Interesting sidenote: in Glasgow, chavs were mostly called ‘neds’ for some reason I could not fathom. Glasgow was ACE!
A ned is a Non Educated Delinquent: as an insult, the acronym is weightily more than the sum of its parts, so wield with caution. Or shout and run.
Chavs/Bogans — and the Irish, Knackers. I lived in a nice apartment building in Dublin, one block away from Knacker-central and a boys’ and girls’ club with a concrete play yard which backed up to my bedroom window. For 2 years I woke up to the sounds of 7-year olds screaming “FOR FUCK’S SAKE?!?!”
bogan!!!!!! That is brilliant. Brill-ee-unt.
Whoooooo… If you've ever seen a throng of ladyChavs in their natural environment you have all almost DIED. Soooooo scary.
Oh no no no, sorry for the thread jack but I can't let this go. Bogans are definitely not the same as chavs. Bogans are characterised by a love of fine heavy metal, a penchant for black jeans and black t- shirts, and a fondness for cars with loud exhausts and big motors. Lady bogans much the same, although older ones also often wear tie -dyed stretch velvet fashioned into ye olde style tied bodices. They wouldn't be seen dead in a chav-style pink tracksuit. Also, bogans are generally pretty non-threatening, whereas chavs mainly just want to cut you.
I opened up on my neighbor yesterday, and I liked it. No cursing, but I got in a "Good Day to you Sir" before I shut my door.
did you open it again and go I SAID GOOD DAY. I don't know if i would've been able to resist even if you lose all the points.
My usually ladylike sister had her chair stolen at Blue & Gold bar (like 8 years ago…) and called the guy who did it an “ass-faced devil worshipper.”
Ahhh LOL
Almost sounds like something from the Wu-Tang Clan name generator, no?
One time I was in Mongolia being Super White and got on a bus with my money belt (stupid) in my coat pocket (stupid). Next thing I know some dude has his hand in there pulling it out and all I can think is that my entire identity is in there so I grabbed this dude (who probably had knives) and just yelled and yelled and yelled and swore and soon all these little old Mongolian ladies were yelling at him too until finally he just threw his hands up in the hair, chucked my stuff on the ground and ran off. It was the most satisfying thing that has ever happened to me, and sometimes I wish someone would try to rob me again so I can yell more but realistically I'd probably just be shot.
I read that first sentence as magnolia and was picturing all of this in a cupcake shop until the old ladies came in. Reads quite well that way!
I like this version of my life better
mongolia seems hardcore. respect!
"YOU HAVE MOTHERFUCKING ROAD RAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!" whoops
I cursed out a group of tourists who were standing four-deep clustered around the entrance to the Canal St. station and I was late to work; I stood behind them patiently for a solid thirty seconds, but the third time I heard them restart the argument about whether or not the N and the Q both went to Times Square, I yelled, "Both fucking trains will go there, now either go down the stairs or get the fuck out of my way, you stupid fat fannypackers," and shoved them all aside.
I immediately felt bad about it as soon as I was down the stairs, but I was not about to apologize. Plus, they probably went home to Omaha and told everyone about their real New York experience getting cursed out.
If I had a quarter for every time yelled "Stand right WALK LEFT" while stuck between a gaggle of tourists on a metro escalator, I could do a lot of laundry.
There was this CRAZY time that I was trying to check out this website, but EVERY TIME I tried to follow its little links it was all, 404!! I'm telling you, I just let loose on that motherfucker!
This is not my swear, but a swear I witnessed. My favourite swear of my whole life:
Drinking at my friend Mike's house in high school, I was about 15 and his mom was out for the evening. But she wasn't, really, she came home and totally busted us. Not that she was upset about the under aged drinking, it was just that he had a couple friends over and we had Kiss blaring. They started arguing and she yells at him:
"And get your faggot friends out of here!"
To which he replies:
"SUCK MY FUCKING COCK, MOM!!!"
Oh, I died of excitement that night. I would never dream of saying anything like that to my mom-not that I have a cock!
A+++++++++++++++
This does not involve me swearing a ton, per se, but it felt like swearing and also it felt like great. Also, sorry it's so long.
My husband and I are suuuuuper poor right now and we haven't been out to the movies in months (important info), but a few weeks ago we scrape together a few bucks to see Inception. A couple sits down three rows behind us – there are a total of six people in the entire theater – and start talking to each other at a normal conversational volume within the first 30 seconds of the movie. You know…Inception…the movie that's pretty confusing anyway without some guy yakking it up behind you? So for literally the first half of the movie, they would start talking every few minutes, I would turn around and stare at them until they noticed me staring at them (I might have thrown in a "SERIOUSLY?" and/or "WHAT THE FUCK?!" under my breath) and they would shut up for a while, and then start talking again a few minutes later. I was seething this entire time and not enjoying the movie whatsoever. Fun night out!
Then at one point the guy leans forward and says nice and loud so we can hear him, "…And if they turn around one more time, I'm going to beat the shit out of them." Ok! So I'm thinking, wow, I wonder what's going to happen next because if they keep talking during this movie, I'm NOT going to NOT do something. Twenty minutes go by and they start talking again. I have had it. Our first "nice" night out (sad) in forever and some guy who apparently loves to purchase tickets to intricately-woven, highly-anticipated movies and then have conversations with his girlfriend throughout said movies is ruining the whole thing. I am shaking with rage. I stand up, turn around to face him, and say real loud, "OK, I'M GOING TO REPORT YOU TO THE MANAGEMENT NOW," and he says, "YEAH, YOU GO FUCK YOURSELF!" and as I walk down the stairs to the exit I say extra cheerfully back to him, "YEAH, YOU TOO!"
While I'm going to get the manager, the guy and my husband get into a verbal (almost physical) confrontation which ends with the guy threatening to COME BACK WITH A GUN AND SHOOT US "IN A MONTH. I'LL BE BACK IN ONE MONTH." Ohhhhhhhh, I get it now. He's like cUcKoO.(Looked like a normal human being – weird.) Then he leaves the theater and we really do enjoy the rest of the movie, but we are also extra nervous walking to our car after the movie let out because of guns, etc.
Anyway, the great part is that we got free movie passes from the management, which we will use in one short week when we meet that guy back there so he can shoot us dead. Bye, everyone!
Oh my god I hope this thread never ends
This is the best story ever. Let us know how it goes.
St. Petersburg, Russia, 2003:
I like to think I travel well, but I was worn thin near the end of my weeks in St. Petersburg for a writing seminar thing. The hotel was plagued by black flies, broken plumbing and irritable prostitutes. Outside, we battled gunfights and lecherous gypsy children. We bought candy and it turned out to be pork boullion cubes, maybe more than once.
A friend and I went to get ballet tickets at the Mariinsky Theater. We had been prepared to stand strong: “They’ll say no at first but you have to yell and demand the tickets. Then demand the student price!” I stood by meekly as my friend did the tough haggling. As we crossed the beautiful, historic lobby with our hard-won prize, an ancient lady took several steps out of her way, just to shove me hard in the arm. I yelled right into her face:
“FUCK! Just FUCK!”
So, so, so loud and broken sounding. Everyone froze for a moment. That old lady didn’t give a good goddamn.
ahahahhaha! i like how we go to far away places and spazz the fuck out just to make sure we get extra killed.
"EXTRA KILLED" literally the best part of this thread so far.
This is soooo good. I wish I had something to contribute, but I waste my worst swears on pigeons.
I had a 96th St. 1 train experience that didn’t work out so well. I was already on the train, and when we got to 96th a woman got off and, I guess, collided with some guy who was running from the express to the local. I heard the clatter of her phone/iPod hitting the platform, and then a moment later she poked her head back into the car and said something like, “Thanks a lot, asshole!” Then she was gone and the rest of us were stuck with this guy, who was embarrassed and angry that he’d just been called an asshole, and responded with a profanity-laced tirade that began, “Did you see that bitch?!” I wanted to say, No, none of us saw what happened, and for all we know you’re not really an asshole, so maybe you could just sit down… But he went on and on, and it became clear that he probably DID deserve a cussing-out, since he was obviously completely nuts and paranoid to boot. So I’m always afraid that calling attention to someone’s bad behavior will result in a direct, prolongued confrontation with crazy (or worse!), which everyone around me will of course pretend not to notice.
Also, once I was at the intersection of 57th and 8th and a cabbie rolled down his window to shout at another cabbie, “Hey, fuck you, buddy!” in accented English. And the other driver, also heavily accented, shouted back, “Yeah, you weeesh, eh?” Which was pretty hilarious. But the light was red, preventing either of them from speeding off and ending the encounter. So they just kept shouting back and forth: “Fuck you!” “Yeah, you weesh!” while the pedestrians on the corner (babies in strollers, etc.) tried not to make eye contact. It kind of ruined the moment.
These are all excellent swear stories. Mine’s not exactly swearing at someone, but.
Three years ago, I was in the Sistine Chapel for the first time in my life, and upon sighting Michelangelo’s magnificent ceiling, exclaimed in wonder, “Fuck me!” Apparently I didn’t use my indoor voice, because I immediately got horrified looks from everyone near me. Turns out swearing near a Great Work of Art In The Vatican is quite frowned upon. Who knew?
I said, "get the fuck out of here or die and go to hell, you god-damned moron" to a lady killing the plants on Chrystie Street this summer. She was just ripping them out and collecting them in a plastic bag and, well, I kind-of look like a zany witch and she is a moron so maybe I could trick her into thinking this was a Real Curse. Anyways, it worked! She got the fuck out of there!
I was living in Japan, and I had this weird pervert stalker guy start tailing me around a grocery store one day. I knew he was going to follow me outside, and I didn’t feel like tipping him off to where I lived, so I decided to walk aimlessly around the neighborhood until he got bored or something.
Yeah right! I was in the middle of a crowded residential street, lots of old ladies sweeping and hosing the pavement, lots of old men doing those calisthenics you see old people doing constantly in Japan, and I felt this guy’s breath on my neck, on my actual neck, so I wheeled around. Fucker was actually within an inch of my body! Also, what must all these nice old folks have been thinking, and why was everyone ignoring this?
I speak pretty good Japanese but I realized I only knew how to say “Shit!” and not any other good swears. This is a terrible position to be in, unable to tell someone off better than an average 4 year old. So, I yelled “Shit!” and then fired off a barrage of creative English swears that nobody understood, and I’m pretty sure spit flew from my mouth. He looked at me like I was the crazy one, and then the old people went in their houses. I was left holding my groceries in the middle of an empty street, vowing to learn the equivalent of “cocksucker.”
The best time I ever cursed was the first time I ever cursed. I was 8 and my brother was 12. We started to go home, he took off. I got home RIGHT as he slammed the front door in my face and I yelled "YOU PUSSY!" and watched through the panes of glass as both of our faces exploded into shock. I didn't even know what pussy meant — but my brother did, and it was enough for him to unlock the door and let me in. And that is where my life-long passion for cursewords was born.
Does swearing at a dog count? Just last night I went to WalMart – yah pray for me, it's a whole nother story – to buy sheets and I was leaving and getting into my car and at the same time I glanced at the window of the car next to me this little fucking dog smashed its face and paws into the window and barks like 50 barks per second at me. I fell back onto my car and yelled "Jesus fucking Christ you little mother fucker, you scared the fucking shit outta me!FUCK YOU!" There was like 10 people in the vicinity but it was WalMart so nobody even flinched, they just kept beating their kids on the way in the door. The sheets sucked BTW.
In college I had a weird, amorphous, undefined relationship with a dude, aka we had sex a lot but I kept telling him, "I don't want a boyfriend!" Well be careful what you wish for because after summer break he brought a girl from Texas who he met in Mexico to a party at my neighbor's house! BAD IDEA! I remember calmly calling him from across the street (he hadn't seen me) and SPEWING INVECTIVE into the phone. I can't even remember what I said. Then I went to my house, drank, like half a bottle of Johnny Walker, left more invective strewn voicemails (I think I said something about never bringing cheesy whores to my hood or something). The next morning I woke up drunk and, upset that I didn't make more of a scene, marched to his apartment, BAREFOOT (oh I'm ALLL CLASS) and pounded on his door. He wasn't home but his roommates really appreciated the wake up call. As I was walking home, the aforementioned cheesy whore was sitting on a planter on the sidewalk and I got up in her face saying "Are you that girl? Are you that FUCKING girl?? Never FUCKING come here ever again!" Then I went home and wandered my front yard (still barefoot), drinking a can of PBR, before my friend picked me up. The moral of this story? I belong on the Jerry Springer show (or Cops), and yelling at cheesy whores is FUCKING AWESOME!
KATIE! You remain the fucking BEST
High Fives! Fuckin' whores! WOOO!
Perhaps not the best, but the most recent. Saratoga Springs, high racing season. Broadway (the main drag) is full of bridge & tunnel tourists. My mister and I are crossing the street 1) in a marked crosswalk 2) with a walk light 3) and near signs that clearly direct drivers to yield to pedestrians. Some old marrieds in a horrible Volvo crossover zoom through the intersection, taking a left-hand turn practically into us in that kind of "I'm lost"-induced panicky fast driving that most people do. My boyfriend tries to pull me out of the way of the car but I turn and plant myself directly in its path so it will stop completely. Behind the rolled-up windows I see the man start swearing or yelling (presumably at me) and I remain in the middle of the intersection (light probably changing at this point), yelling "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING BOOMER! I HAVE THE FUCKING LIGHT!" He tries to veer around me and keep driving, and as his man-van passes me, I punch the window as hard as I possibly can, yelling "FUCK YOU! GO TO HELL YOU FUCKING JERSEY BOOMER!" I then calmly finish crossing the street to a Starbucks where about 25 tourists are staring at me, mouths agape. To his credit, one 50-something dude blurts, "I would've done the same thing!"
Here's one where instead of old people being sworn at, it is young people. Really young people. Really only one young person, my niece, who I actually love quite a lot despite the story I'm about to tell, partly because she has some of the best road rage ever. I should probably tell those stories instead, because I look less unfit to be around minors.
Anyway, so I somehow wound up in a mall before 10am with two of my nieces (2 and 6 at the time). The youngest had just finished a puking session all over my hands (awesome) and so we were in search of a bathroom. I've got the 2-year-old potato-sack-style under one arm (because my hands, right, covered in vomit) and the 6-year-old trailing me to a spiral escalator. I run down the stairs, expecting the kid behind to keep up but then I turn around and she's fucking standing at the top, holding her hands to her face and REFUSING to step on it. "Get on the escalator," I shout up to her. Instead of doing so, she shouts back, "It's gonna get me again!" Oh, shit, I then remember this is the child that tumbled down a set of these things and got her sandal stuck at the bottom. "You're gonna be fine, just hold the side and step on!" Nothing. The kid under my arm starts whimpering about puking again. Fucking fuck, I'm thinking, this is going to go nowhere good. People begin to look over. "Just fucking get on!" Instead, she steps back. I then proceed to lose my shit because that's what you do. "JESUS CHRIST, JUST GET ON THE FUCKING ESCALATOR. FUCK, I WILL LOSE SIGHT OF YOU IF I HAVE TO FIND THE OTHER ONE BACK UP AND YOUR SISTER NEEDS A BATHROOM RIGHT THIS DAMN MINUTE. FUCKING FUCKING FUCK GET ON THE GODDAMN ESCALATOR! YOUR MOTHER IS GOING TO FUCKING HELL FOR MAKING ME BABYSIT YOU, HOLY SHIT, IT'S TOO FUCKING EARLY FOR THIS BULLSHIT." People start laughing. LAUGHING. No one – not one of those early morning motherfuckers – bothers to help me or the kid, even though I am screaming obscenities at her and she's on the verge of crying.
I eventually got to her and all she has to say to me is, "Sorry, Auntie, those things are mean." THOSE THINGS, not her crazy, swearing aunt.
Hats off.
I reallllyyyy reallly like these stories.
I was at a nerd convention recently talking with my friends, and I adjusted my bra while we were talking, and then I look over and see someone on another walkway taking a picture of the most awkward part of this action. So first I flip him off almost good-naturedly but two beats later it catches up to me how creepy that really is and I\\\'m filled with this RAGE. So I march over there and get up in his face and ask him, politely but terrifyingly, to delete that fucking photo right now, because I\\\'m asking politely, and if he doesn\\\'t, I intimate that I will take his camera and, gosh, since I just don\\\'t know how to work his camera, I might have to use my heel to delete that photo.
And after about ten seconds of this interaction he acts like such an asshole, and laughs at me, and his buddy is laughing at me, and he\\\'s CLEARLY drunk that I just let him have it. I don\\\'t know, I am apparently terrifying when I go on a tear. I have one friend that I\\\'ve only gotten angry at once and he was horrified, I guess I get very Angry Galadriel. But I turned away from this guy for literally one second to call a security guard and he BOLTS and sprints as fast as he can off into the crowd.
I know I have other anecdotes about swearing (fuck, how I love swearing) but this one is the most recent, at least.
I was three years old. My sister, brothers, and mom were in the kitchen, and my brothers were having it out over some stupid thing. I walked into the kitchen, yelled, "Shut the hell up, you assholes! Sesame's on!", turned around, and walked back out.
I earned a new respect from the sibs, while my poor mother was left to pick her jaw up off the floor. Dad still gets the blame.
these stories made my day. now i feel i need to add mine since i read \'em all.
every time i yell \"fuck you, you fucking dumb fuck, learn to fucking drive\" out my window to someone who clearly can\'t hear me from their car, while those who are not offenders can hear me, I fell satisfied. But the most satisfying was once i was talking on my phone while at a stop light and a lady turns left across traffic on a freshly red light just in time to not be able to complete her turn into walmart due to the traffic jam caused by the slow ass people walking out of the store (got that? it\'s a poorly planned intersection) Anyway, my light turns green, I wait, no movement, so I honk since the lady totally ran the red to turn and block the damn intersection. which to me is rude and in my state also against the law. So I\'m honking and totally annoyed, telling my friend on the phone this lady is a fucking dumbass and i\'m watching her look right at me and start yelling at me for being on my phone. which i get it being seen as bad to some people who maybe didnt get taught drivers ed with a cell phone in one hand (literally. this happened to me). i wasnt texting i was just talking! but like hell if i was going to take that shit from this offending lady who is still blocking traffic as my light turns yellow. I then put my phone down, lean out the window and start yelling how she is breaking two laws from clearly not paying any damn attention and how i can see that while talking on my phone which is also not against the law so who is really in the wrong, who is the distracted one etc, plus some more of that fucking dumb fuck talk from before, and finally grandma makes it across the street and the lady is able to complete her turn into walmart, almost rear ending the guy in front of her as she guns it. at the next light, which is red of course since the timing is all off now, the guy in the car next to me yells \"Hey, you were right!\" and this made it all worth it.
REALLY late to the game, but here is my story, not very sweary, but the sentiment is the same:
My Mom died in 1999, no warning, total shock. After a few weeks of planning 2 funerals, helping my Dad cope, burying her in a state halfway across the country that I wasn't sure I would ever get back to, well, I just needed a moment, just one moment of normalcy.
I was young and had 3 room-mates, they were great, and totally all about me me me during this time, but I just REALLY wanted to be alone for a minute. I decided to take a walk down to the market for some orange juice. They tried to go and get it for me, but I finally convinced them to let me go, with a promise I would be right back.
It was the first time in days I had been alone (outside of the bathroom), and it was a nice day. I was so overcome, half happy to be trying to do something normal, but also, it was the first time I was really able to process what happened, and know for sure my Mom was gone.
There he was , that guy who thinks total strangers owe it to him to walk around smiling 24-7. "SMILE!!! IT CAN'T BE THAT BAD!!!!", Yeah, THAT guy.
I remember my face contorting in ways that I was unfamiliar with, I remember my voice sounding completely different from what I was used to , and I remember stopping and slowly turning my head towards him as my eyes got wider and wider. I sort of half hissed/half growled "OH YES IT CAN" and watching the top half of his body lean back. He whispered something ("It can?" maybe? I was so enraged at this stranger taking that one decent moment away from me I can't really remember).
I got the orange juice and took it home. Most delicious orange juice I ever drank. I realized later that my Mom was always worrying about budgets, but when I was little, she always let me drink as much orange juice as I wanted (for the Vitamin C).
Thanks for this site, I am really am enjoying it.
Whilst I was an impressionable child, there was a national campaign that appeared everywhere – like everywhere from your school books through to national tv – exhorting all and sundry to "Be a tidy Kiwi" – basically just pick up your rubbish. (stay with me here, it's all useful background) It ws so ubiquitous that you could use the phrase for almost any occasion.
Few years later, I'd just been crowned the zombie prom queen at the zombie prom and was sitting outside the bar, doing my best not to let my eyes drunkenly roll back in my head while fluttering eyelashes at some guy. A taxi pulls up at the lights outside, the passenger rolls down the window and casually throws his burger wrapper and bag out the window out onto the road. Without even thinking, I launch myself, in full zombie regalia, at the road, pick up the bag, run up to he taxi and throw it back at the guy whilst shouting, "That's not being a fucking tidy kiwi!"
About 3 years ago I was at a small music venue owned by a friend of mine waiting in line for the bathroom, for like…15 minutes!!! (SHIT BEFORE YOU LEAVE HOME, JESUS CHRIST!) Finally the door opened and a very tall, very large fraternity member (not the type of place frat guys usually frequent) lumbers out. I walk in to the bathroom, and this fucker had literally pissed ALL OVER the toilet seat and the floor in front of it. My normal reaction to a toilet seat covered in piss is just a pouty sad face, but this time something clicked…
With lightning speed this animalistic superbitch reflex kicks in and I spin around and march right up to the drunk frat guy and start hailing obscenities in his face… "Not only were you in the fucking GIRLS RESTROOM for FIFTEEN MINUTES, you used your fucking FIREHOSE to PISS ALL OVER the SEAT and the FLOOR, you inconsiderate FUCKING ASSHOLE! You need to go in there and fucking clean it up RIGHT NOW!!! There are other people here who are going to have to HOVER over your PISS PUDDLES for the rest of the night because you aren't properly POTTY TRAINED!!"
I'm 5'2" and he must have been about 6'3" and at this point my boyfriend is standing behind me praying he is not about to get punched because this dude is not responding well to my verbal abuse. The guy just sort of stood there with his tail between his legs, surrounded by his other dickhead friends who are yelling things like "Damn!!"
He didn't clean the bathroom, but I'm pretty sure he left the venue and maybe never came back (YAY!), and I got a bunch of high fives from the staff and pretty much every other woman at the bar.
AND IT FELT SO GOOD! The end. What an asshole.