I is for Indignation
(Warning: PG-13, Dirty Word Talk)
Nothing
says loser like the phrase “chickensh$%". It’s a time honored expletive that conveys the speaker’s total lack of
respect for the object or receiver of the expression. (It’s on the Internet, so
it must be true.)
adjective
adjective: chicken-sh@&;
1.
worthless or
contemptible (used as a general term of deprecation).
"no more chickensh&* excuses"
noun
noun: chicken-sh&@;
1.
a worthless or
contemptible person.
Why
is it such a powerful cuss word?
Because
chickensh$% is the silliest poop in the world, also chickens are cowardly.
Well,
some chickens are cowardly, and some chickens will rake your eyes out with
their razor-like chicken spurs. And then they’ll take a icky dump on your
lifeless husk as they eat you. It’s true.
But
I digress.
Chickens
poop nasty. It’s pee-pee and poo-poo all wrapped up in one, which chickens
leave like tiny landmines everywhere they roam, unless they’re roosting in the
rafters of the barn and then they rain chickensh*% down on your head like
tiny, stinky carpet bombs.
Mostly,
we keep our chickens in a chicken coop, except when we don’t. When the coop is
getting a makeover or the chickens have escaped it’s possible that our chickens
are “free ranging.” At present, we are re-modeling our coop. They are freely
ranging.
Free
ranging means that chickens are allowed to roam freely—mostly to the rafters of
our barn, over our heads, when we’re trying to have ballet class. It’s true.
(Once a week, we have ballet class in the barn, leading to a lot of free
ranging ballerinas wandering around. I just realized that ballerinas in the
barn are weirder than chickens in the rafters.) So, there you go—free ranging
chickens and free ranging ballerinas, and you’ve got the recipe for some crazy
chickensh&# drama.
Sure
enough, my daughter-in-law, while practicing her step-ball-change (or twerking
or grand jete or whatever) got be-fouled (see what I did there?) by our
rooster. In an explosion of pee/poop she was blasted from above. The goosh hit
her sleeve, dripped down her arm, only to plop onto the back of her ankle. She
howled. The rooster calmly shifted his position in the rafters and went back to
sleep. A lot of the twerk went out of our dance class at that point, I can tell
you. Sigh.
She
was indignant, taking the rooster’s free ranging expression of biologic
necessity personally.
Looking
on the bright side, I said, “At least it wasn’t in your hair.”
The
moral of the story: It’s a foul expletive.
As
a real life experience: It’s a foul expletive.
Linda
(Heads Up) Zern
NOTE: I can’t remember my father NOT using the
phrase in relation to: the world, his job, politics, modern life, daily life,
family life, groups of people . . . etc. I mean he loved saying it.
