I refuse to *#@%

In an attempt to keep internet me relatively clean, I have refrained from, uh, speaking as I normally would. (Sorry Mom & Dad, I don't usually say "freaking"). But sometimes, situations and frustrations just call for a good. . .ahem. The whole ampersand-pound sign-other bizarre symbols swearing business is entirely too lame.

But I've found a solution. I am going to allow "feck" into my acceptable vocabulary. I mean, if priests can say it. . .Well, messed up, exiled, alcoholic Father Ted priests. . .

However, that's more like me than regular priests, I think everyone would agree.

And so:
My goddamn blister is fecking infected, and I'm wearing clunky shoes for the fourth day in a row, and I'm a fecking incompetent stepmother because I make them cry when I behave perfectly so I really don't know what the feck to do, and I think I'm getting arthritis at age 24 which is fecking pathetic, and I really have to stop listening to fecking Iron & Wine because they're really not helping the weepy-me situation.

Song:
Weary Memory, Iron & Wine

Quote:
Mrs. Doyle: What would ye say to a cup o' tea?
Father Jack: Feck off, cup!
(Father Ted)