It has recently come to my attention via the readers’ opinion pages of this fine magazine that some folks don’t find swear words funny. I nearly choked on my toast reading this. “Gosh-darn” I thought, “I guess that some people just don’t understand the complex humour associated with sarcastic immaturity.” You see, anyone can comment on topical issues with a slick vein of humor. Joe Bennett is a good example of this. But let’s face facts, that man is an astute wordsmith with dark wit seeping out of his arse. I don’t even pretend to be half as good as he is. I must humbly admit to being a one-joke columnist. Interestingly enough, it’s a joke that has carried my entire act for nearly two and a half years. What is this joke? If you think you know, Email me at . First right answer gets a Snickers.*
On to more pressing issues now. In the same letter a gauntlet was laid down to write a “witty piece of literature…using only words and phrases that include more than four letter expletives”. Well, as cited above I probably can’t promise you witty, however I can curb the urge to swear. So without further ado ladies and gentlemen, Yule Sukmeov presents his first ever attempt at a cuss free column…
I’d like to tell you all about something that happened to me over the summer. Being a poor student from a middle-class family, separated by geography from his stingy parents, I was struggling to find the funds needed to meet rent. I was eventually compelled to take a job as a farmhand within the dark recesses of New Zealand’s own hillbilly wasteland (the Waikato). At first, this did not appear to be the most tantalizing of jobs with many fringe benefits, but as I was soon to discover, violated cows were not the only ones around being milked of their dairy products.
Bobby-Jo was the name of the farmer’s daughter, and it was on a warm Friday afternoon that she lured me into the barn. She must have seen how well I handled a hoe because now she wanted me to plow her field. In all honesty I’m a modest man (my ego is small in comparison to my eleven inch wang) but BJ was a stunner as far as backward country yokel stock go. A jack-o-lantern smile, banjo scarred fingers, and a civilized aroma of manure. You could barely tell she was her brother’s mother. Luckily for you readers, BJ resisted the urge to swear in amazement as she removed my trousers. That day she was witness to evidence of one of the few successful New Zealand snake smuggling operations. She then insisted showing me her sword swallowing trick. “I hope you do fire eating as well,” I quipped. BJ looked up, smiled, and continued to make like Colonel Sanders (i.e. stuffing her mouth with tasty spice-coated penis).
NOTE: It was about this time that standards began to decline, unfortunately, you, the reader at home, don’t get to read all the juicy bits because apparently, and I quote, “Salient is not Penthouse™”, but hey, anyone who did read the unedited version of what follows can testify that I didn’t resort to swear words (if you want a copy you can Email me)[Actually, it was “Salient is not quite Penthouse” And I’m sorry I ruined your KFC/cock joke before, but isn’t that the point? – Ed.]. Let’s just say the remainder of this charming little story involved beads, a pussy (and I even resisted making an obvious bestiality joke), a chocolate mud cake of sorts, and a trip to Splash Planet™.
To cut a long and subtle Barbara Cartland novel short, after the before mentioned unfortunate unmentionables, I eventually came and went. She returned home with a limp. Why have I told you this amazingly true (and heavily edited) story? Who knows or cares, but at least I didn’t say any bad four letter expletives during it because that’s just immature and stupid and “intellectual” people might cry and whinge about it cos they know what people find funny and swearing isn’t it. That’s got to count for something doesn’t it??!!!!