“Waitress, this Super Coronary Breakfast Special is supposed to come with five sausages, but I only see four here…”
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Oh, I understand it plenty. But I don’t get it, at least for people who are past the fourth grade.
And if it were strictly religious, the good old Anglo-Saxonisms like “fuck” and “shit” would be fine.
It’s the whole “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind” thing.
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If we lived as they did in Bible times, we’d all live naked in the desert, wear long dreadlocks, and eat locusts and honey.
Sounds a lot more fun than all this anglicized crap, but that’s not saying much.
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I read the theory somewhere that whatever is repressed in a culture is what bubbles up as swear words. It sounds plausible. Quebec, where the Catholic Church controlled absolutely everything for centuries, has raised blasphemy to an art form: “mon crisse de char est brisé, tabarnak de câlisse” (literally: “My Christ of (a) car is broken, tabernacle of (the) chalice”).
English swearing, on the other hand, concentrates on sex and excretion, although blasphemy was popular in the past (zounds!, gadzooks!)
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This thieving douchebag of a Drumpf took a piss on my radiator!
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That’s just spelled wrong. It’s the lesser known movie Pet Seminary where they learn if all dogs do go to heaven.
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We went to a restaurant with some friends tonight. I got a cheeseburger that came with a slice of Canadian bacon, a surprise since I hadn’t ordered it. So I peeled off the cheese and set the bacon aside, to take home for lunch. With dinner done, my wife asked for a box, since she had eaten only half her meal. The waiter looked around questioningly so I said, “I’ll put my bacon in my wife’s box.”
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I’m glad you’re secure enough to be comfortable with your wife bringing home the bacon.
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Good thing it wasn’t a hot dog.
Because that would have been a rather strange-looking cheeseburger
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Oh definitely; I am a kept man at this point. Actually I forgot to add that my wife said her box was full, so in the end I asked the waiter to procure me another.
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I’m trying to imagine how that would work and failing utterly.
ETA: a bagel instead of a roll?
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But they’ve got a cool shape. And they’ve got protein!
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Too goddamn true:
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That’s why they stick to my shirt. 
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Babies stick to your shirt?
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Well, with enough force from the t-shirt cannon, I think so. /s
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That’s paint? Sure looks like a rash to me. Or worse.
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