A Brief but Delicious History of Swearing

As inspired by George Penney, who is an awesome, brilliant friend.

Vague disclaimer: there will be unedited swearing in this Cappuccino, no dainty asterisks (*), no coy bowdlerization omitting the vulgar parts, so proceed at your own risk.

Anyone who knows me in real life will attest to the fact that I have the filthiest mouth this side of the Tiber.

The truth is, I am an equal opportunity abuser of words. I can effortlessly segue from a discussion on the geopolitical ramifications that Russia’s invasion of Ukraine might have on China’s future pillaging of Taiwan to, “What the cinnamon toast fuck is this shit?” That’s not a humble-brag. It’s a confession.

I’m a dork who swears.

When I was six, I had this friend, Robbie. His family was Seventh Day Adventist and wouldn’t let him go trick-or-treating for Halloween, a deprivation that caused me no end of bewildered horror for poor Robbie, who was surely the most abused child in the history of the world. Robbie’s dad was one of those pocket-pen-protector, white shirt-sleeve-wearing, birth-control bifocals, slacks-with-a-pleat kind of dads who frankly scared the shit out of me. I never saw him smile, not once. And he sure wasn’t smiling the day I showed up to play with Robbie.

“Do you speak French?” he asked me, first thing after answering the door.

“Uh, no,” I replied.

“Do you speak German?”

I was already starting to fidget. “Nope. No German.”

Affixing me with his most baleful glare, he demanded, “Do you speak swear words?”

And right then, I knew the gig was up. The night before, Robbie and I had been playing hide-and-go-seek in my backyard. I’d stumbled and fallen, which jarred loose a “Goddammit.” Robbie had immediately burst into tears.

But now the little bastard had ratted me out—worse, he’d ratted me out to his father, who was a cross between Darth Vader and an IBM salesman. I mumbled something about having left my purse and then vamanosed out of there. No way was I sticking around for more of his bullshit.

From there, I started compiling lists of particularly creative swears: Festering fucktangle, fuckrudder, fuck-knuckle, chucklefucks. Certain words just have good mouth-feel, like vintage wine. I still do it, only now in two languages. Swearing gives me a fleeting and entirely delusional sense of power, as though a well-timed “fuck” were able to punch a hole through whatever problem inspired it. Years later when I had kids, I tried to Mary Poppins my salty language so my kids weren’t disinvited to birthday parties (all children have a fine appreciation for swearing and will echo everything they hear, often in front of other grownups), but that only lasted until my oldest was twelve and started teaching his eight-year-old sister what the term “Dirty Sanchez” meant.

Click on that ^^^ link only if you are prepared to be viscerally disgusted.

So where do they come from, these marvelous English intensifiers like fuck? How long have they been in circulation?

Contrary to popular belief, which holds that fuck is an Anglo-Saxon word, it’s actually a relative of Low German, Frisian, and Dutch words meaning "to strike" and "to move back and forth." There’s scant record of fuck before the fifteenth century, but it does exist. John le Fucker was an Englishman mentioned in an administrative record of 1278. In English court records dating from 1310–11, one man from Chester is referred to as Roger Fuckebythenavele, which may have been a nickname rather than a surname. What was it in reference to? Did poor Roger fail to grasp the specific topography of copulation? Was he kinky or a dimwit?

Fuckebegger (1286/7) was Edward I’s palfreyman. If it meant what I think it meant, I hope he paid well for the privilege. But one of my favorite instances of early fuckery came from the great poet, John Wilmot, Lord Rochester, whose vulgarity was infamous.

For reference, Priapus refers to penis; a dry bob was dry humping, perform your bargain meant, in essence, do what you agreed to do. Frigg and dye need no explanation.

Priapus squeez'd, a Snow-Ball, did emit;
Yet these Two partial Dames, a dry Bob, cry,
Perform your Bargain (Peer) or frigg, and dye.
Thus was I Rook'd of Twelve substantial Fucks,

The word shit is older than fuck by half, appearing in documents around 1,000 years ago. There was the Old English scitta, the Anglo-Saxon word scittan, and the Old Norse word skita. By Chaucer’s day, it had evolved (or devolved, if you prefer) to schitte (excrement), schyt (diarrhea) and shiten (to defecate). But its cognates were, not surprisingly, Germanic (scheisse), Dutch (schijt) Swedish (skit) Norwegian (skitt) and Icelandic (skitur). You’re welcome!

Because the word cunt is used disparagingly (the implication being that, like male homosexuality itself, nothing is worse than resembling a vulva or vagina, or indeed any hole that receives things), it is arguably my favorite word. There’s that hard C up front, and an angry T at the end. It also owes its effectiveness to its brevity. Like fuck and shit, cunt is but one glorious syllable.

Swearing in Italian (my boyfriend John is particularly good at it) may sound like a poetic rage-take, but in all those flowery syllables, their power is lost. Not so our thin-lipped Germanic swears. Cunt. Say it. It’s darkly malevolent, a word to be feared. You can fuck a cunt, but you oughtn’t to fuck with a cunt.

John went an entire six months without swearing, which impressed and baffled me. He feels that swearing is toxic on the system, and that’s probably true for some. Not me!

Because of my determination to reappropriate the word cunt, I love all place names with the word cunt in them. Magpie Lane in Oxford, England, boasted a Gropecunt Lane in the 1200s where, as you might imagine, women of ill-repute plied their trade.

Magpie Lane now, but back in the MIddle Ages, it was Gropecunt Lane, which sounds a lot more colorful.

Origins of the word cunt are up for debate. We have similar words in all the Northern European languages, including Finnish (which, to be clear, is Uralic, not Scandinavian. Their word for cunt is kusipää, pronounced KOO-zee-pah). But in Latin, it’s cunnus, Middle Low German, it’s kutte, Dutch is kut, and Old Norse is kunta. I’ll let you do the math.

Despite what your grandma wants you to believe, there is nobility in swearing. It’s healthy. Sometimes, letting loose a rippling stream of profanity is the only way you can get through a terrible day.

And now when somebody threatens to get out the soap to wash your filthy mouth, you can say all the same things that got you in trouble in the first place, only in multiple languages.

If only we could get our iPhones to stop autocorrecting our rude words, those ducking pieces of shut.

Do you have any brilliantly profane words? If so, I want to hear them! Please leave your comments below.