Perhaps I am being a hypocrite when I criticize the use of
substandard speech (e.g. “I ain’t done nuthin’ wrong.”) but I myself, on
occasion, have allowed profanity to escape my lips.  Not in public, mine you.  But around the house I can fling the f-word
and its brethren with the best of them (or is it the worst of them?).

It just seems that there are times – frustrating,
aggravating, mind boggling times – when use of the profane vernacular is not
only appropriate but downright necessary in order to adequately express one’s
emotions.  “Under certain circumstances,”
said Mark Twain (who else?), “profanity provides a relief denied even to
prayer.” 

Gosh, golly, and gee whiz have, in other words, an extremely
limited usefulness.

Perhaps the employment of a curse on occasion is like a
verbal tattoo.  Polite society would
never visit a tattoo parlor.  Having one’s
skin tattooed is to a certain extent a deviate act, allowing oneself to be
branded, like common cattle.  It is
beyond argument that cussing is common speech. 

Sometimes profanity has a euphemistic way of entering everyday
language through a side door.  You might
hear someone call an overly cautious person a “wuss.”  Or it might, in an extreme case, become a “freaking”
wuss.  We all know what a “freaking wuss”
really is, don’t we?

In the end, I make no apology for my use of profane language
on occasion.  All I am trying to do is
adequately express my feelings.  Gee
whiz, give me a break.