Hearken to me, you world-weary cynics. Are you tired of scurrilious language and churlish public manners? Does ordinary foul-mouthing sound fusty to you? Do you long to give someone a piece of your mind without stooping to such unseemly behavior yourself? Take a lesson from Shakespeare and his Elizabethan compatriots, and join me in reviving the art of creative cursing.
In this endeavor I refer to a message on Shakespearean insults that crossed my screen some years ago. This message contained a table with three columns, two listing adjectives and one listing nouns. Choose a word from each column and string them together to create custom invectives for any occasion.
Think of how much more refined our public life would be if we engaged in florid fulminating instead of simply firing off f-bombs or giving the finger. The problem with our current vocabulary is that it’s banal and boring. Maybe this is the result of overuse; like angry bumper stickers, we’re exposed to so much profanity these days that the shock value is gone. Liberal doses of it sprinkled throughout movies and books sound lame, not edgy.
As I waited in line at a busy store recently, I overheard this exchange:
Guy #1: Man, I hate my boss. Total jerk (not the precise word used).
Guy #2: Sucks, man.
Guy #1: Yeah, well, screw him.
Now imagine the exchange sounding like this:
Guy #1: My boss is the veriest onion-eyed scoundrel.
Guy #2: What, such pernicious outrageous fortune!
Guy #1: A pox on him, the knavish rugheaded pantaloon.
Possible uses for creative curses extend beyond the personal into the public arena. Take political campaigns, for instance. The quality of insulting exchanges has sadly deteriorated since Spiro Agnew coined his famous “nattering nabobs of negativism” Royenish mottle-minded jackanape sounds more villainous than liar or cheat. If candidates widened their vocabularies and polished their imaginations, televised debates would be entertaining again.
Or consider the workplace. When a crafty coworker steals the promotion with your name on it, try muttering “That whoreson dogheaded cutpurse!” instead of an ordinary “Why, that S.O.B.” When your boss turns down your request for a raise, think “grizzled sour-faced minimus” instead of whining to yourself about the unfairness of it all. Not only will you feel righteous but you’ll add the sort of element of high drama to office politics that makes mundane jobs juicy.
And what would a breakup be without passionate recriminations? Surprise your soon-to-be-ex with a parting shot like “you wenching lily-livered miscreant!” or “If I’d only known you’re a total wanton empty-hearted scullion!” and I guarantee you won’t be soon forgotten.
Children could be taught Shakespearean as a second language, thus giving them a sophisticated tool for battling verbal bullies. “Leave me alone, you reeky motley-minded hedge-pig” would confound harassers used to “I h8 u” and other semiliterate sentiments in textese.
It may take awhile to become accustomed to linguistic flourishes. However, after a certain amount of practice, phrases like gleeking clay-brained clodpole and spongy milk-livered measle will probably come tripping off your tongue. The uses of Shakespearean insults are limited only by the imagination of the user. Try it the next time someone cuts you off on the freeway.
Fie, rapscallion!
(Here's a link to a handy Shakespearean "insult kit").
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