Here, kitty kitty, maybe?

I swear. A lot. Sometimes I don't even notice I'm doing it. I have the ability to turn it off in front of customers and out of respect for old people, but generally speaking my speech is littered with cuss words.

So why does it shock me to see them in print, in public, for all the world to see?

I've been working in our downtown office this week, and so the landscape changes on my way to work. I have a variety of routes that I can take since I live so flipping far away from downtown. The first day driving I passed a billboard on Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway that said something along the general idea of kicking someone's ass. On a billboard? Sure on the internet, in a blog, in a book, maybe even in a PG movie. But on a billboard? I didn't think that was legal. I remember being mildly taken aback and wondering if there was some hidden meaning and maybe I am too much of a swearer to see the obvious true context of it. But that's really not it. I wish I could remember the whole slogan or whatever it was. Maybe tomorrow I'll retrace my steps (but I probably won't because I remember hitting a lot of traffic on Monday's route) and see if I can remember it after 9 hours in the hole.

I'm also kind of shocked at what is okay to say on prime time anymore. It's gradually getting worse. Bitch is okay, damn, hell, ass. I'm just waiting for shit. It won't surprise me in the slightest. I just came from a time when those were bad words. It's not bad for me since they make up about 50% of my vocabulary (with the f word filling in 25% and then regular words, conjunctions and prepositions filling in the last 25%), but I don't have kids at home watching this stuff. Not that they would necessarily watch the shows I watch, but isn't prime time supposed to be family friendly to some degree? I should ask somebody. What do you tell your kid when it's all over TV but he gets grounded because he asked you how the hell your day was?

The capper on it this week was this pickup I was lucky enough to drive up behind on Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway coming home Tuesday night. There was something painted on the tailgate in huge bright letters, and as I approached it, I thought for a minute it was time to get my eyes checked (it is, but I'm lazy. And I digress a little bit). Nope, eyesight is fine. It said "Pussy Wagon". For reals. "Pussy Wagon". After I got over my initial shock (and distaste, really, because who does that? Who has that painted on the tailgate of their truck?), I sped up to see what kind of guy would be so crass as to drive around with that. Guess what? Wasn't a guy. It was a chick. Which changed things a little bit, perspective-wise, though it was still crass. You know, maybe if it was like a mobile cat grooming truck or some sort of cat mass transit situation. But I really don't think it was because there was nothing in the bed of the truck and no other detail or advertisement anywhere else on the truck. Just "Pussy Wagon" on the tailgate. Come and get it. Come and get your pussy, here in my Pussy Wagon. Mother of God.

Pussy Wagon came up behind me this evening on my way home again, but I saw her coming, and I sped up and passed a Prius on the right to get away from her. I don't want that thing anywhere near me. God only knows where it's been.