VULGAR MOMENT #1
There’s a little word that covers so much ground, fits in so many contexts, and feels so at home in so many social variations that most people don’t give it a lot of thought. It’s what I like to call a ‘Smurf’ or a word used in place of the word implied. ‘Smurf’ is an imaginary blue creature that exists in the world of celluloid and merchandising (and what a lovely place that is!) whose primary interesting characteristic, besides a total fear and loathing for witchcraft as represented by a bumbling, bald headed man in a monk’s robe and his more sinister, closer-to-earth familiar (speaking of familiar, does this attitude toward earth-centered religions remind you of any place in particular?), is a wonderful habit of replacing certain words in certain sentences said in certain situations with the word ‘Smurfy.’ A brief (and only brief, because I feel an entire linguistics volume could not do justice to such a concept) list of examples and the wide range of interpretation available to our young, eager-to-learn minds is (NOTE: Although the word ‘Smurfy’ is normally used in a seemingly positive sense, there always lurks in the darkness a negative, absurdly wicked (or suggestive) meaning to any potential word substitution game. This is also known as ‘pig subliminalese.’).
“I feel Smurfy today!”
MALE SPEAKER: could refer to being happy, rested, positive, adventurous, wonderful, god-like (see note on ‘Oh, Smurf!’) or angry, upset, disturbed, horny, out of control, evil, etc.
FEMALE SPEAKER: same as above except could also mean, “It’s a day before my period starts and I’m really on edge. Don’t fuck with me, because I’ve got a 12-pound sledge hammer ready to turn you into jelly.”
“That’s just Smurfy!”
SMURFESE for: that sucks, that’s wonderful, that’s totally beyond my comprehension, that really puts a whole new angle on our relationship, my little Smurfy one, etc., etc.
COULD BE a recognition of a smurfalene deity, or an expression of horror, pleasure or almost anything else. One could almost say, ‘Oh, Vague!’ and cover the same ground.
MOVING RIGHT ALONG
What is this all leading to in our own language? We have a word like ‘Smurf’ in our vocabulary. Surprised? Know what the word is, cousin?
That’s the word, and here are some examples of it in use:
“I gotta take a shit”
Oddly enough, this means a need for a bowel movement.
“I feel like shit!”
A comparison of one’s own state of health and being with that of fecal matter. Does shit often feel like us?
“This food tastes like shit!”
Again, how do we know?
“This is good shit, man!”
The best in life is always that which leaves us.
“Shit! That dude is the shit!”
Once again, we equate the best with the most mortal part of ourselves.
Could be a substitute for swearing on the earth, which is God’s foot “stool” (no pun intended).
SPEAKING OF SHIT: Shit Sandwich – A One Act Play
Have you ever wondered what goes into a shit sandwich? I got a feeling you ain’t gonna believe it, brother.
CAST (in order of appearance):
MERDE – A local heavy, working for the Sanitation Department
BREAD – A clerk at the local food bank
TOMMY ATO – A reproductively challenged playboy
ROSEMARY – A fresh, young girl from the country
MUSTARD – A friend of Merde’s, perhaps a relative
The action takes place in the town of Countertop, where all the characters reside. As we join the action, MERDE enters from stage left and greets MUSTARD, who is hanging out center stage.
MUSTARD (seeing MERDE enter): Shit, man, you got any bread?
MERDE (shakes his head): Nah, man, I’m all dried out. You seen Mayo around?
MUSTARD: Saw him at the shelf coupla days ago; looks like he’s spreading himself pretty thin. I think he’s been hanging out with Tommy Ato.
MERDE: Never could figure that motherfucker out – people say he’s a vegetable . . .
MUSTARD: Nah, he’s just a fucking fruit.
MERDE: It’s all in where your seed ends up, man.
MUSTARD: Ain’t it the truth?
MERDE: Howz Spice doin’?
MUSTARD: That sage? Doing all right, if you know what I’m saying; heard he’s hanging down on Rack Street with ma boys Pepper and Dillon.
MERDE: Pepper still got that bitch Rosemary?
MUSTARD: Yeah, she’s still fresh. D’ya see her sister, man?
MERDE: Shit, yeah, I know . . . most beautiful onion I ever seen. We oughta call her up and get this thing goin’ on.
MUSTARD: We gotta have bread for that, man.
MERDE: Don’t I know it! Maybe we should call up The Knife, touch him for a spot.
MUSTARD: I heard Margarine and her lard-ass sister were buttering him up good. Plus, he’s been known to cut his shit, if you know what I’m saying.
MERDE (shivering): Nah, man, I’m not into that.
AS MUCH AS I KNOW YOU’RE ALL FULLY INTO THIS, IT’S GOTTA END. THE LAST THING I WANT TO DO IS CREATE SOME SORT OF SICK, ANAL-RETENTIVE SCHOOL OF DRAMA THAT DOES TO ‘Waiting for Godot’ WHAT ‘Waiting for Godot’ DID TO ‘Waiting for Godot.’ Comprende?
Excerpt from the unpublished Secret Undertown Ministry, 1994