Profanity is poetry, too. If used the right way. For example, we Romanians don't necessarily have curse words. We have "curse stories." We won't say: Fuck you. We'll start a story about your mother, how she became pregnant, how she gave birth to you--such a bastard, and then how we'll put you back into her, slather you around a bit in there, then take you out, and insult you.
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Liar? I thought March came in like a lion. Oh well, perhaps it will still go out like a lamb. Or perhaps you will just still need your wool coat.
So the vernal equinox becomes the venal. Yet was not Spring ever so? Promises, promises, so often denied...
At least your blog will let me comment at last. I reckon it gets frightened when Ned comes along. :D
I've called it way worse than liar, but then, I've never been particularly poetic.
Profanity is poetry, too. If used the right way. For example, we Romanians don't necessarily have curse words. We have "curse stories." We won't say: Fuck you. We'll start a story about your mother, how she became pregnant, how she gave birth to you--such a bastard, and then how we'll put you back into her, slather you around a bit in there, then take you out, and insult you.
That, my friend can be pretty hilariously poetic.
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