Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones, But You Are Still A Cuntard

I have a poilicy of not moderating the comments I receive on any post I make; mainly because I don't have the readership that would warrant it but also, mental health wise, I can't be doing with it.  My blog is syndicated on a few sites; on those, I've received some comments that have upset me and been (in my opinion) un-necessarily unpleasant (and at times verbally aggressive towards my children's disability), but I attempt to take this in my stride.  After all, it's only words, and if anything really vulgar was said, I would address it.

A few months ago, I received a comment on this post.  The post itself concerned my latest feelings of impotence in what feels like the ongoing battle to ensure that The Boy is adequately catered for within school.

Within this post, I referred to the headteacher as a "cuntard."  I received a comment that advised me that they would no longer be reading my blog as the word I used was comparable to the "r" word. 

Yes, *that* "r" word.  The one that I despise and never use.  The one that I once forced a guest at the hotel write an apology to my son for saying.  The one that makes me visibly wince and will see me address the use of it to anyone who utters it.  Much like the "s" word, it is not used by me, and is not used around me more than once by anyone I encounter.

I was, and remain, shocked by this in a way that only someone who knows me could ever possibly understand.

Despite being academically quite smart, I am a fool where social matters are concerned.  Nuances pass me by.  I stare blankly into the beaming light of accepted normality and, frankly, haven't a clue what is transpiring.

In my real life, I have certain rules.  I do not, for example, swear around children.  This applies whether the child is newly arrived to the world, still baking, or running around in a garden smearing their own fecal matter on the fence.  I will not swear around people who have expressed that they dislike it.  I will, and do, swear magnificently around old people.  I feel it is my duty. 

This is something about me that often surprises others; I am prolific and, I feel, extremely gifted at swearing.  I adore swearing.  I find it to be both big and clever.  It accentuates an argument.  It punctuates a sentence.  It gives emphasis where there was previously none.  I can sneak swear words into a conversation so comfortably others often don't notice that I have said them.  I call people "cunt" in much the same way that others call their contemporaries "mate".  There is no malice, it's meant with love and adulation.

I do not condone the use of racial slur words. They make me wince.  I will confront anyone that uses them.
Sexual and sexuality based slur words will provoke the same reaction.  In real life, I couldn't give a flying fuck what or who you do, I'm just interested in whether or not you're a nice person.  If you are, I'm going to call you a cunt.  If you're not, I'm going to call you a cunt.  Either way, we're both going to leave the room happy; we'll leave as friends (yay!) or safe in the knowledge that we will never, ever see each other again (yay!).  Using a word that is derivative of your race, sexuality, sex, disability; yeah, it's not going to happen.

Because, and I can honestly say this, it never struck me that "cuntard" was seen as an extension of the "r" word.  When I made mention of this elsewhere, I was sent a link that stated that it was.  I was amazed.

My use of the word was to indicate that not only do I find The Boy's headteacher to be utterly talentless and dreary; boring and benign; dull beyond belief, I also believe her to be a cunt.  She is that mixture of dullard and cunt that she can only reasonably be described, when in a fit of pique and fury, as a cuntard.

Having been fortunate enough to be brought up by my grandparents (who lived through a phenomonal period of recent history where their relationship saw them being persecuted and subject to horrific attacks, both verbal and physcial), I was encouraged to stand up for what I believe in.  I was taught that using words that pick apart someone's differences; words that are used with the intent of making another to be lesser than yourself; words that are used to hurt and degrade your fellow humans is the pasttime of the fuck wit; the hobby of the stupid. 

I hope that I'm neither, though I'm sure you could find many a thousand person who would disagree with that.

If someone says something that you disagree with, it is your duty to question it.  It's possible you may have misunderstood what the intent was; it's possible that the person saying it is a narrow minded cunt who deserves a good hard kick in the leg.  Either way, you must put up or shut up.  Believe in what you have to say, and stand by it.

To that effect, I categorically confirm that I believe The Boy's head teacher was, and still is, acting like an utter fucking cuntard, and when this blog retruns from its current summer hibernation, expect me to call her the same.