F-Bombs Away!

That four letter word is everywhere.

It peppers conversations overheard in campus halls, flavors the bland lyrics of pop music, and well seasons the dialogue of movies and TV shows.

It’s the mother-of-all-curse-words, and some people are taking it to work.

I was highly amused by this little episode in Terry Heaton’s PoMo blog concerning the use of profanity in the newsroom. Pay for what you say.

To be frank, I’d stay away from f-bomb and company. You’ll offend before you impress. Not to mention that it’s rather linguistically boring if every other word that comes out of your mouth rhymes with schmuck.

It’s not like I don’t use those bad boys myself. I have sailor moments. I go all Bruce Banner when my knee collides with some hard metal object, or that idiot cuts me off while he’s crossing three lanes of traffic, and then I become this expletive-spewing mutant.

Yet I think that Heaton’s funny little Fu*k Jar goes a little far. Cursing is unprofessional, and the fact that it got so out of hand in the newsroom that they started charging per expletive is a trifle ridiculous. It’s work, not the Osbournes. Save it for a more appropriate time, like when the washing machine overflows and makes the laundry room look like the splash zone at Sea World.

So if something slips out on accident at the workplace, apologize, and don’t make a habit of it. What you say defines you, and unless you’re looking for that trailer-trash potty-mouth reputation, stop yourself before you let the four letter words fly. The professional realm is just no place for fuck.