The flyer was stapled to a telephone pole and read PROFANITY FOR HUMANITY—JOIN THE CAUSE! There were a dozen tearable strips at the bottom, and each held the name of a politician or a billionaire, preceded by a vulgar four-letter word. The choice was not an easy one, with so many degenerates to choose from, but at last I made my selection, in defiance of every church lady I’ve ever known. And so I joined the ranks—membership for life—of an insidious organization with a single mission: to restore faith in humanity one swear word at a time.
I got on the bus with my one hand in my pocket—nothing nefarious. My words to the driver when I stepped off on Broadway were nearly Fuck You when Thank You is what I meant. Some would say it’s a slippery slope—cheers to the church ladies—but the choice is really a simple one: give a fuck or go to therapy. Since I couldn’t afford therapy because the healthcare system sucks, I polished my fucks and prepared to give them out. There was still the “FUCK —” in my pocket, the first I ever gave. I considered maybe having it framed—something to tell my kids someday.