MERDE INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING AMERICAN JOURNAL OF CONFLICT
AJCON. 32 (1998) 642-655 AJCON Y4657-(98)7454-34
Swearing is not Big and it is not Clever
Dr. Leonard Stamford Duppenis
Stan Bowles College, University of Queens Park Rangers, Loftus Road, London.
Received 20 May 2004, accepted for publishing 26 July 2004
Published 16 September 2004
This research was spurned on by work carried out by Daly N, Newton J, Stubbe M (2004), at the School of Linguistics and Applied Studies, University of Wellington New Zealand. In particular, their paper ‘Expletives as Solidarity Signals in a Face Threatening Act on the Factory Floor.’
After reading this piece of research I decided to carry out my own study into particularly the use of the word fuck and face threatening situations. Their analysis was directed on the complex socio-pragmatic functions of using the word fuck in the workplace, and I decided I would conduct my own research outside the confines of the workplace. After conducting my own research down at my local gentleman’s establishment, the Bull and Slaughtered Farm Boy, I found that swearing is not big and it is certainly not
Unlike the research carried out by the team who wrote the aforementioned study, I took mine further and ended up by getting into quite a serious brawl. My experiments began at 5pm and went on well into the night before leaving the research premises in the back of an ambulance.
I decided to use their arguments that swearing is a form of solidarity in such situations by calling the bar man a ‘great big fat f@ck wit’ before ordering my spritzer with lemon. The bar man became agitated and asked me to ‘tone it down’. So I decided to approach my research from another angle and ordered eight pints of lager and three packets of Cheesy Qauvers.
Several hours later, I was woken by three large men asking if I was alright, my reply was to tell them politely to ‘go f@ck themselves’. These gentlemen laughed and asked me if I would like to f@cking take it outside. This kind of opportunity doesn’t come along every day and with the benefit of my new research partners I decided to stumble outside to carry on with my fact finding. Then outside, the men placed me up against the wall and started to make their way back into the pub. I was determined not to turn up such a chance and shouted after them ‘you’re all a bunch of right f@cking pussies”. This seemed to do the trick as one turned round and replied ‘go f@ck yourself’.
My experiment was working and I couldn’t wait to get on the next plane to New Zealand to tell my fellow researchers of my findings. As I contemplated this, I felt a sharp pain as one of the burly men connected his ring incrusted fist with my head. “You f@cking dickhead,” I shouted just before spitting blood. “Shut it you pr!ck,” replied the man. This was great, better than I could imagine. I tried to retrieve my note pad to take down this interesting discussion between myself and my fellow academics.
“Stay down you little sh!t,” said another man. I managed to clear my head long enough to get his statement down before the second man’s boot swung towards my stomach. I lurched forward spitting more blood onto the pavement and onto the first man’s shoes. “You little b@stard, they were brand new shoes.”
I felt warm in the knowledge that my findings would allow fellow academics a better understanding of this harsh vocabulary. I was also happy in the knowledge that my head avoided the broken bottle on the floor as the man with smart shoes kicked me further to the floor. Pain surged through my upper body and I could feel myself passing out, but I was able to hold it together to draw together my very exciting conclusions.
I am quite certain that Daly, et al, would have been proud of the way I conducted myself that night and of the way I managed to hurl one final statement towards the three men as they headed back into the bar.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
This did the trick, as I received conclusive evidence that it is not big and it is not clever to swear. The men returned and I found that there was a whole new world of pain that even I in my college years smoking bongs made out rusty dustbins was unaware of. The last thing I remember was what appeared to be warm water trickling down my face and across my blood-soaked lips before I eventually passed into an unconscious state.
When I awoke, I was happy to find that the few lose notes I scribbled down were still with me, stuck to my blood-stained, sweaty forehead along with a dozen pieces of broken green and brown glass. There was a strange smell of vomit and urine on my clothes and I noticed that my wallet had been removed; it reminded me of the research I carried out into ‘the cost-effectiveness of reggae sound systems having disco lights, except on that occasion my underwear had been left intact.
After returning from hospital and waiting for my broken wrist, dislocated shoulder and broken eye socket to mend I collated my findings and contacted the School of Linguistics and Applied Studies in Wellington, New Zealand but sadly they never replied to my e-mail. I did try another e-mail without the expletives but again got no response.
I did not feel any hard feelings towards my fellow researchers and indeed look forward to them coming to these shores for any future conferences and seminars.
I would love to chat and exchange views with my fellow academics, hopefully over a pint down at my local.