We need new and more imaginative swearwords. We need to lift the level of vituperation – especially in light of the great financial meltdown with its cohorts of absurd villains. The cursing you hear, internationally as well as locally, is of a very low standard and boringly repetitive. The nouns are varied – scandal, shame, misery, nonsense, disgrace, confusion, shambles, chaos, mess – but the adjectives attached to the nouns never vary very much. Indeed 90% of the time a single, ancient, Anglo-Saxon expletive, which I see has been allowed to appear in the latest edition of Webster’s dictionary, serves to define whatever sort of mess, scandal, or disgrace is being described. This is not good enough. Surely we can invent subtler and more descriptive language to lambast those in authority or our opponents of any sort. Remember, elections are coming and we need a bit of subtlety in our taunts.
The truth is, this is an age of mindless profanity, not thoughtful invective. There are very few still around who take the time and trouble to craft literate, elegant insults – like Winston Churchill in the House of Commons calling Clement Attlee, the Labour Prime Minister, “a sheep in sheep’s clothing.” Or the Australian Paul Keating sneering at a long-time political opponent: “This little flower, this delicate little beauty, this cream puff… this shiver looking for a spine to run up.”
I like the story of the great mediaeval Italian poet, Dante. He was having a bad time at the court of his patron, Can Grande Della Scala. A conceited idiot at the court was being treated much better than Dante and one day this man asked the poet: “How is it that I, who am so ignorant, should be so rich and favoured while you, who are so learned and wise, should be a beggar?” Quick as a flash Dante gave the fool the perfect reply: “The reason is that you have found a lord that resembles you and when I find one who resembles me I shall no doubt be as rich as you.”
And hear this magnificent insult come down to us through the mists of time – it is the marvellous taunt delivered thousands of years ago by Thersites against King Agamemnon: “An honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax!”
My all-time favourite story of cursing comes from the Jewish writer, Leo Rosten, as retold by Phillip Howard, the English political commentator.
Cecil (né Sidney) B de Millstein was finishing his spectacular The Triumph of King David. On the desert near Beersheba three high towers had been erected, each crowned with cameras, cameramen, and sound equipment. These towers plus his own were de Millstein’s way of ensuring that the climactic scene, a battle using 3,000 extras, 400 camels, 2,000 spears, etc, would be filmed from every angle. “Action!” called de Millstein over the loudspeakers. And what action there was. Never had filmic battle raged so convincingly. When, after 15 uninterrupted minutes of mayhem, de Millstein cried “Cut!” the crews burst into cheers.
Into his telephone to Tower 1, Cecil B de Millstein barked: “You got it all, Moshe?” An anguished voice replied: “Our power went off. We couldn’t shoot a single frame.”
“May the Lord plant beets in your stomach. May the doctors name a disease after you!” shouted de Millstein. He flipped his intercom to Tower 2. “Chaim! You caught it all?”
“Mr de Millstein, please don’t get mad. The cameraman forgot to reload. I ran out of film after three minutes.”
“Idiot! Murderer! May your tapeworm develop constipation.” De Millstein snapped to Tower 3. “Sol? Sol?”
“Mr de Millstein, never was there such a scene. You are a genius.”
“Okay rush the film to the lab.”
“The film?” echoed Sol. “I thought it was a rehearsal.”
“Moron!” roared de Millstein. “May trolley cars invade your stomach. May the moyl circumcise your first son and throw away the wrong piece.” The great de Millstein slammed down the phone, and turned to his own cameraman. “Thank God, you’re here, Nate. I’m sure everything was OK with our setup.”
“Absolutely!” shouted Nate. “Enough film in the camera?”
“Plenty, boss!”
“The sound okay?“
“The sound is perfect.”
“Thank God.” To which there was the confident response: “We’re ready whenever you are, Mr de Millstein.”
However, I have to say that for sheer contempt expressed as insult I have seldom read anything as biting as the account given by Senator Robert Byrd in his book Losing America of a meeting the old Senator attended with President George W Bush. The event was a gathering of Congressional leaders summoned to hear about legislation the President wanted passed establishing the Department of Homeland Security.
Bush offered “desultory” remarks about creating a new department and while cameras and lights dominated the scene, thanked Congress for its advice and cooperation. The lights went off, reporters and cameramen departed, and Bush announced he must leave to make a speech in St Louis. Senator Byrd asked to be heard:
“I noted that the President wanted quick action on his “homeland security package” but [said] I had never been informed of what was in the “package.” I had heard one leader at the table vow passage of “this thing” by Election Day. I repeated that as yet, “I don’t know what ‘this thing’ is.” The President responded with a non sequitur, thanking me for my statement and assuring me that it would be considered. Then he promptly rose and headed out the door. Amazing. I might as well have been reciting a recipe for Christmas fruitcake. My opinion of meetings at the White House hit a new low. I was struck by the President’s dismal performance. To say it was mediocre would be a gross exaggeration. He was disorganized, unprepared, and rambling. This fellow was all hat and no cattle, as they would say in Texas. It was obvious that he had no idea what was in his Department of Homeland Security proposal, nor did he seem to care.”
Byrd had sat in meetings with Presidents since Harry Truman, and now he wrote, “But this President, this Bush number 43, was in a class by himself – ineptitude supreme. This meeting with Bush the Younger topped anything I had seen, from Truman on, for absolute tripe!”
