Well, after more than a decade of heavy use and pushing their certified load limits, it's finally happened: I've broken the backs on all my expletives. They're in traction, up at Lingua Franca University Hospital, in Esperanto.
I blame the current GOP-created-and-sponsored government shutdown as much as I do the amount of overwork my profane and explicit oaths and exclamations have been subjected to, ever since Reagan slipped through the cracks of the founding fathers' notions of a wise and informed populace, and a watchdog press, keeping a close and good eye on its leaders and their use of power.
Doctors of Etymology had been providing me steady warnings about the possibility of buckled expletives ever since I sprained my tongue back in late 2000, when the U.S. Supreme Court drove a stake through the heart of the U.S. Constitution on December 12th and ended democracy here.
As is usually the case in such situations, I am told, their medical warnings fell on non-working auditory inputs. I thought my invectives were immortal, I guess, back when I was younger and even more reckless with, and hard on, my opinions than I am today.
Oh, I gave my diatribes some half-hearted lip service, of a sort, during the reign of terror that has long been cutsied up, neutered, and shoved out in front of the TeeBee cameras to be consumed in one long, hard swallow by Americans as the "Dubya" years.