We are a family of word-lovers. My mother instilled in each of us a desire to know words. Instead of “said” we were encouraged to use replied, retorted, exclaimed, whispered, shouted, admonished (personal fave) – well, you get the picture. There were a couple of word rules:
1) we couldn’t use it if we didn’t know what it meant. And
2) we couldn’t say it unless it was in the dictionary.
This was my mother’s way of keeping us from cussing – wouldn’t work so much now, ‘cause “those words” are in many dictionaries -But it worked just fine back then.
We couldn’t call each other f*ck*rs, bi$ch@s, as$ho(es, or even ba4t#rds – cause we couldn’t find them in the dictionary. But phenomenal alternatives were found, and creative compounds built: Mucus-hound, Feces-dweller, larvae-lover.
What a wonderful life, eh? (Rhetorical – yes, it WAS a wonderful life…..)
Jason is my youngest brother, and as a child he received quite the pickings on by his five older siblings. We would call him names...he wouldn’t know what they meant...he would look them up... – and cry... and then we would heartily laugh.
Jason spent oodles of hours with eyes in the dictionary....
One day, I was sitting outside with my sister JoJo and her boyfriend – the boyfriend we all tolerated, but considered a fecal-dweeling maggot-munching, toad-toting fiend.
“Whatcha doing?” Jason asked.
“Noneofyerbizness, Four-eyes,” Danny sneered.
--see why we didn’t like him? I mean it’s one thing to pick on your OWN sibling…
“Hey,” I retorted, “Don’t call him that—“
“It’s okay,” interjected Jason, “I don’t care what he says. He’s a hemorrhoid!”
“A what!?!?” I choked.
“A hemorrhoid,” Jason calmly repeated.
“Jason,” I admonished (heh-heh, personal fave), “You know the rules: if you don’t know what it means, you can’t say it.”
“Hemorrhoid,” explained Jason, “ Hemoorrhoid. A painful and inflamed area near the butt-OCKS. And that is what Danny is: a painful area near the butt-OCKS.”
Dontcha jus' love it? I mean, dontcha!?!?!?