I love swearing. I really do. Unleashing a torrent of diatribe laced with blistering epithets is one of the most stress-reductive activities available to human beings. Transcendental meditation? Yoga? Jogging? Whiskey? You might point out, must, logically, be better at cooling temperatures and lowering blood pressure than rattling off a string of imprecations.
Wrong, I’d argue.
Whether you just blew a 2 set or 6 stroke lead (the two activities which get me swearing the most furiously), venting with a storm of inappropriate words will banish the anger.
Just get cut off? Drop a sentence that is 60/40 swearing and not.
Miss the train? Clench your fists, close the eyes, and repeat your favorite curse three times fast, in an incantatory dissipation of annoyance.
While blaspheming incessantly and carelessly is certainly a philistinic way to swear, I would also argue that a well placed f-bomb or a precisely timed and intoned GD adds gravitas and a creative emotionalism (lingual/literary verite?) to conversation or writing, whichever the case may be. Vehement or casual incorporation of foul-mouthed banter is a part of the reality we live in, and to deliberately scrub language of the dirtier parts of its legacy, is, I think, an unjustified act of self and social censorship.
So let those curses fly, often and passionately, if, in you fact, you are passionate about whatever gives you cause to swear. Drop the f bombs, the SOBs, the G-F-Ds, just no unjustified saturation campaigns.
And remember, when offering up a barrage of profane verbiage, just include something, anything, resembling an intellectual, introspective, or creative ability, it makes defending all that plebian foul-mouthery so much easier to defend.