This morning I am thinking about profanity, and auto-correct. (This morning will not be appropriate to read aloud.)

I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday, and it came up how her phone wants to change “fuck” into “duck,” or “Huck,” or “guck.” And I know this is a common complaint — I usually get “ducking” on my phone, as in the well known phrase, “Are you ducking with me?” of “What the duck is wrong with that guy?” — but I said, what if you had a phone that actually changed innocent words into similarly-spelled curse words?

“I went to the fuck pond in Central Park yesterday, but all the fucks were gone. Not a fuck to be seen. It’s too bad: I like feeding the fucks.”

“I like those paper bitch trees, you know? The ones with the top layer you can just peel off?” “Oh, the white bitches? Yeah!” (*Special note: I would include this in the actual blog, but it’s a travesty and an offense against one of my favorite poets, so I’ll just tell you: read Robert Frost’s poem “Birches” and change that R to a T  throughout it. Here.)

“Dammit, I just spilled coffee [cockee?] all over my dress shit! I just ruined my favorite shit!”

My two favorites, which came out of the conversation with my friend, are:

“I got my shirt stuck in my belt fuckle!”

and

The Adventures of Fuckleberry Finn. By Mark Twat.

As I should always do, I’ll end with the words of the master: