Sentence Enhancers: 5 Curse Words I Wish I Could Get Away with Saying

Content Warning: contains almost curse words.

In light of the fact that it is the holiday season and most of you will be spending the time with your families, finding out that your cousin is gay, and your uncle is divorcing your aunt because she is actually a he, I have decided to make a list of curse words that I wish I could, but sadly cannot, say. Now, before you look at me with your judging eye let me explain.SAM_3607

I can’t not say these words because we are an immensely strict Christian family, or because I am not of age (many kids my age curse), or because my tongue will burn if I do. But actually because I am scared out of my mind. I actually think my mom would let me get away with saying at least one of these, but every time I open my mouth to do it I have a mini panic attack. I mean, I actually feel rebellious when I sing “Uptown Funk” because in the outro he says “uptown funk you up” and it sounds so much like the “F-word”. When I rap along with a Young Money song I literally sound like I am stuttering because I pause at every curse word.

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Imagine having to sing the radio version of “I Don’t F*ck With You”. Do you know how lame-o that is? It takes away from the sharpness of the song. If Big Sean had actually came out with just that version of the song, I have no doubt it would be nowhere near as popular as it is now.  It’s even worse when my mom says “What did he say?” during a movie but I can’t reply or it takes away from the funny when I do because he cussed. *sigh* So, I am going to type the words I would like to say out loud. Heavily censored, of course.

Sentence Enhancer #1: D*mn

And all of it’s derivatives. That includes, but is not limited to: D*mmit, Godd*mn and Godd*mmit. Do you know how many times I have stubbed my toe and have had to yell “Oh! Darn It! That hurt really bad!” when it could’ve easily been wrapped up in a nice “D*MN”  package? Too many to count.Follow our handy Key & Peele Halloween costume guides for tips and tricks on how to pull off some of the show’s most memorable characters. Character: A husband from I Said Bitch Costume: Sweater vest, button-down (bonus points: space suit) Tips: Look around nervously for wife, whisper “I said, biiiiiiiiiiiitch” when the coast is clear Tune in this Wednesday at 10:30/9:30c for a very special Halloween episode of Key & Peele!

Sentence Enhancer #2: B*tch

I can only imagine how fun to say it must be for most of you reading this. Do you know how many b*tches I have come in contact with but have had to settle with calling a “B-word” or “witch”? (and always behind her back) I might as well have just called her a meany or a dodo head, because that’s how big of an affect those words have.

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Sentence Enhancer #3: F*ck

And all of it’s derivatives. Just typing it is spicy to me. Like eating wasabi alone, which I actually like to do when I eat sushi. I would type out all of the derivatives but I’m afraid I’d get flagged.

Sentence Enhancer #4: Sh*t

And all of it’s derivatives. Including but not limited to “sh*thead and bullsh*tting”. I wouldn’t even use this word in an obscene way. Just when I was surprised or scared or when my heart was beating. The obvious times.

Sentence Enhancer #5: *ss

One word. Music. Do you know how many songs are about what this word symbolizes, nowadays?! Do you know how lame it is to say “butt” in replace of that?!

Oh, yeah. And “p*ssed”. I mean, why not. I get p*ssed just like the rest of you. Just when I do it, it’s called “really mad”.  Keep in mind, I mean to offend no one. This is just my personal opinion.  Also, what curse words do you wish you can say to that family member this holiday season? Tell me in the comment section below. Sage Out.

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Getting Lucky: Chapter 3

Hello world and all who inhabit it! I wrote another chapter of Getting Lucky. Well, sort of wrote it. I’m almost finished, it’s just taking me eight years longer than I thought it would. But I wanted to post this now so that I can publish another post that I’ve had ready for nearly a week. When I’ve finished it, i’ll alert you all so you  can finish the chapter on my Wattpad. Now, let’s get lucky.

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Chapter 3: Frosty, The Businessman

He was made of snow but the children know how he came to life one day; There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found; For when they placed it on his head he began to dance around…

I stopped as a car zoomed passed me, threatening to nick the tip of my nose as I waited for the walking light to blink. I feel like I’ve been run over by Santa’s Reindeer. Is this really how Grandma felt? If it is, I feel for her. This is horrible… My head is pulsing, my throat is raw, my legs and arms are numb and I’m pretty sure I’m covered in small purple and blue bruises. Why? Things are moving way to fast and it is taking everything in my power not to vomit everything I haven’t eaten yet, and scare this poor little kid next to me that’s looking up at me with his innocent big blue eyes like I just told him Santa doesn’t exist.

“Hey, kid,” I whispered as I bent down so that I was at eye level with him. He jumped, startled that I was speaking to him. His eyes somehow grew wider than they were just a moment ago and his mouth was turned upside down in an extreme frown. “Don’t drink and stay in school.” I said sagely and suddenly his face broke as he erupted in a waterfall of tears. His mother yanked him back and looked at me disapprovingly. I winced as the sound of his crying sounded like a grenade going off in my head.

Is this what happens when you get drunk? You wake up at some stranger’s house with absolutely no recollection of what happened the night before except for the fact that he claims that he did not take advantage of you?  Kid’s cry as they look at you in the street? The sun makes too much noise? If it is, this is terrible. Why do people even drink? It solves no problems; the only thing you have after it is more things to deal with and a big bump on the back of your head from who knows what or where. I lifted my hand up to my head softly touching the bruise, wincing as a pain shot through my head. The light turned red and I slowly began to walk across the street.

You know what hurts the most? My pride. As I take the walk of shame all the way back to my house I can’t help but wonder how absolutely terrible I look right now. I didn’t—couldn’t—even look in the mirror as I ran out of the apartment with my jacket and that strange CD in my hands. For all I know, I look like the ghost bus from Mean Girls just ran over me. I know I feel like it.

I looked around at all of the Christmas decorations in the windows of all of the buildings I passed. A big green bow with red accents sat on top of a perfectly wrapped present in the display window of a candy store.  Valerie’s Candy Haven. I smiled as I looked closely at the freshly cleaned window and saw something that made me gasp. In the reflection I saw… me. Or at least what I thought was me. My hair was practically one large knot on the top of my head, my makeup was smeared down my face and my bright red lipstick was smeared across my cheeks. Before this I knew I probably looked like crap but… damn. I did not know it looked this bad. I look like the Joker’s little sister on a bad day.

I began to vigorously rub at my face and run my fingers through my matted hair, but nothing seemed to be working. It looked like I had Rosacea and was crying black liquid. I sighed and forced my beanie over my head and continued the terrifying walk back to my house.

As I turned the corner to my house I stopped and attempted to look dignified. Oh Santa, Noël is going to tear me a new one. And then laugh at me. And then tear me another new one for me to enjoy for the holidays. Oh, joy to the world.  What am I going to do? Not only did I go against his wishes and go to the bar but I also stayed out all night and if he finds out why, I can consider this the last time I see the sun. I looked up at the sky. Judging by the grey skies and clouds rolling in it looked like it was about to rain, but knowing LA weather it probably won’t last very long. I looked both ways before crossing the street to the two-story house my brother owned. Trust me when I say this, living with your older slightly more successful sibling has both its advantages and disadvantages. Advantages? They could care less about what you eat and when you eat, they don’t really care about your grades as long as you continue to go to school, you can have a small Christmas tree in your room, and jobs are unnecessary unless you want one. Disadvantages? They can tell you what to do and you have to do it—kind of like a parent except parents don’t have “telling mom and dad” to hang over your head, and the when you get that chore done doesn’t really matter when it’s your sibling—, you can’t go to that bar and get drunk for the first time if he tells you you can’t, you can’t sleep over at friends’ houses if he doesn’t know them, and no wild parties unless he’s invited as well.  And I’ve nearly hit all of the disadvantages on the head when I defied my brother and went out last night. I stopped at the, big red door with the wreath hanging on it and took a deep breath.

Good bye, everybody. It was nice knowing you. I let out the breath I hadn’t noticed I was still holding and turned the key to get into the house. I slowly stepped in and looked around the living room and when he wasn’t there I looked up the stairs and noticed his office door was open and there was music softly playing from inside. Noël is a music producer so there was always music playing in the house, especially where he is, something I usually didn’t think twice about but today it works in my favor.  I wanted to cheer and jump up and down in celebration, but didn’t want to risk making too much noise. But, despite what happened last night, It looks like my name behooves me. I softly closed the door behind me, bending down to slip of my boots wincing slightly as the zipper seemed the loudest thing in the house right now. I hunched down and began to slowly tip toe into the living room. Maybe he hasn’t noticed I am gone yet. Maybe I can just slip into my room and act like nothing even happened. Maybe I won’t have to…

“Lucky, where were you last night?”

Oh crap.

It’s Time To Get Lucky

It is exactly two days (3, if you count the fact that I am posting this at 2 o’clock in the morning) after Halloween and it’s is now time to get ready for the next big business lucrative holiday. Black Friday– I mean, Christmas. Forget about Thanksgiving, the only people that make money from that is the grocery stores, or Veteran’s Day, nobody really makes money off of that. It’s time for the holiday where you wake up at the butt crack of dawn to buy presents that are never going to be used, or returned for the money the person you bought it for would have rather had. Don’t lie, you’re excited.  So in light of such news, I bring you ‘Getting Lucky’, a story I am writing and would love for you to read.

Synopsis:

It’s Christmas Vacation: I don’t have a boyfriend, all of my friends are gone, and I’m lonely. Tonight, I’m getting wasted. Under-aged or not.

Lucky Anderson doesn’t feel so lucky. It’s Christmas vacation and while all of her closest friends are either visiting their relatives or spending quality time with their boyfriends she stuck at home with a Romantic Comedy and a box of tissues. One night, when she’s at her lowest, she decides to get drunk for the first time and while doing so she runs into more problems than just loneliness.

Enter Evan Gregory, the icy businessman who saves her life but wants nothing to do with her unless it involves a law suit. But inside of his snowy interior does there reside a warm teddy bear?… Lucky doubts it.

If that’s not enough, her so-called friends are teasing her for being alone on a holiday and on a whim she claims to have a boyfriend. Where is she going to get this magical boyfriend? She doubts Santa will be visiting her this Christmas.

It’s at times like this that Lucky wants nothing more than to be just that, Lucky.

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I know, I know. Calm down. It’s Amaze. Now, Read on. It’s about half of the first chapter.

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Getting Lucky

Chapter 1: Now the Jingle Hop Has Begun

He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake…

Oh gosh this song is annoying. I mean, can one guy really do all of that? It’s enough that he knows whether I’m naughty or nice but now he knows when I’m sleeping too? Gosh, talk about being spread too thin. Ha-ha “thin”, Santa’s not thin. I’m not gonna lie, this song used to get me… still does, to be completely honest but what am I supposed to do when it’s Christmas break and I’m alone… again? Don’t worry, I already have the answer to that. Drink, that’s what you do. Right? That’s what they do in the movies. You know, to get courage or something? Maybe I’ll find my Ryan Gosling, maybe I won’t. But I’m still going to do it. Maybe. I sighed. Oh Santa, why is this place so intimidating? Is it because it’s a bar and everybody inside are probably zombies or is it because I’m under-aged and technically not allowed to drink yet?

I looked up towards the sky for strength and took a deep breath, cool air filling my lungs as I tried to muster up the courage to take a step forward. It was dark out, the stars barely visible through all the smog and lights of the city.  I shook my head, all of my wild curls hitting my face as I stomped around in a circle my hands so tight I could feel my skin through the striped fabric of my mittens.

I stopped and tried to seem normal as an older couple walked by. I smiled politely at them as they stared at me judgmentally shaking their heads in disappointment with the youth of these days. That’s literally what I heard them say: “The youth these days”, who does that?

When they were far enough to be out of ear shot, which wasn’t far I might add, I sighed, “Self-righteous **** ** ******.”  I shook my head, cutting my brown eyes in their direction. Calm down, Lucky, no need to curse the elderly.

My shoulders sagged as I looked back toward the tall, red brick and mortar building in front of me. There were two large windows next to the glass door and yellow light streamed out to the sidewalk from the glow of their cheap bulbs. From outside you could see a chair and circular table in front of the left window and the right one had what looked like coats pressed up against it. The door had a “We’re Open” sign stuck on it followed by their time slots. I looked up at the name of the pub; “Bob and Apples’ Bar and Pub” was carved into a wooden plaque in curly letters and painted gold. Seemed harmless enough and it had gotten rave reviews from friends, though most of them are older than me and therefore allowed to drink here.

A black car passed behind me and an icy draft caressed my face, reminding me that it was -0 degrees outside and I should not be standing outside in a school girl skirt and stockings like it’s the middle of August. So when the door opened and the bell rang as a laughing couple came outside with large smiles and a dazed look of new love in their eyes, I cringed inwardly but took that sudden sense of jealousy, did a little dance, my boots clicking softly on the cement and ran in, the door closing shut behind me.

The sound of good old fashioned drunken laughter and cheering with the faint underlining of jazz filled my ears as I stepped inside, it was a welcome replacement from the Christmas music coming from the speakers outside. It smelt strangely of cranberries and sweat as I looked around. My wide, brown eyes feasted on all of the various colors and people as I realized something—they were all so normal. The tall guy with the pot belly and plaid shirt with mustache-clad lips wrapped around a tilted beer bottle could easily be the UPS man or, a killer.  I narrowed my eyes and scanned the area. There was a large, wooden bar in the center of the room with bottles and bottles of alcohol all the way up to the ceiling. Chairs and round tables filled the empty space around the bar and there was a television mounted on the ceiling playing a soccer match. People cheered, arms flailing and bodies rubbing together. This explained the sweaty smell that nearly dominated the establishment.

As I stood there with my mouth agape in astonishment, a man walked in behind me and bumped into me. His strong hand touched my arm softly and excused himself before walking away.

“Oh no… it’s okay.” I muttered, distracted. I took off my forest green wool coat and turned around to hang it up, glancing around me in curiosity. More cheering commenced and I giggled. This was nothing like I had expected to be. There were no zombies, just normal people out to forget all their problems and enjoy themselves. Like me. This is exciting. This is fun. This is… good. I can do this.

In an attempt to fit in, I started bobbing my head to the jazz, smiling at the people who glanced at me. Are you supposed to dance at a bar? I stopped. Do I look like I’m only 18? Amidst all of these twenty and thirty year olds I certainly feel like it. Oh Santa—- no, nope, stop it right there. I can do this. No more Daisy Downer. I’m already in, there’s no turning back now. I straightened my back and tilted my head. The place was a lot fuller than it seemed at first; all of the tables were full and there were only a few barstools left.  I quickly left my awkward spot in front of the door and began to wade through the crowd to get to the counter where I saw the bartender with a towel over his shoulder and his back to the crowd.

Excuse me.” I muttered, but my voice sounded small in comparison to the yells and cheers going on around me. So I joined in as I more roughly shoved those pushing me against others. When I saw an empty barstool I immediately took it, cheering, for other reasons beside the game. There was an older guy with a hat on his face that was passed out to my left and some lady with too much perfume on to my right.

I tried to hide my disgust as I turned to the bartender, “I love this game.” I said with a smile—people always tell me I look a little older when I smile. Well three people told me. Three honest people… I hope. The bartender looked to be a man in his early forties with short, dark black hair and hazel-blue eyes depending on the lighting. If I had to guess I’d say he was Italian.

“Oh, yeah? Who’s playing?” The bartender raised an eyebrow suspiciously as he turned around, drying out a small shot glass.

I glanced down, gnawing nervously at my bottom lip. I tapped my red painted nails on the wood and guessed, “The, uh, Wild… Kangaroos?” I looked to him for confirmation, but I already know that I was so wrong.

The bartender smiled showing off a nice set of pearly whites, “You don’t even know what game it is, do you?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Uh, yeah!  I totally do—its soccer!” I exclaimed, excited that he finally asked me a question I could answer. I grinned proudly, unwrapping my scarf from my neck and laying it out on my lap.

Ding ding ding.”  He called, turning swiftly on his heel, his arms spread out wide. I chuckled, slightly surprised by his sudden outburst. He didn’t seem like the type to get so excited so quickly. Nonetheless, I think I’m gonna like this guy. He plopped the glass down in front of me on the table. “So, what’s your poison?”

What… poison? I thought they only sold drinks here, and chili fries…  “Oh, right. A drink. Uhm…” I looked around as a waitress walked by with a tray in hand that held three shot glasses one of which had tons of ice and lime at the bottom. “I’ll have one of those.” I said pointing at it.

“Do you have an I.D.?” He asked. I tried not to panic. I did come prepared with a fake I.D., I just hoped it worked. I’d practiced, if he asked any questions. Yes, my name really is Lucky Anderson. No, you aren’t getting lucky tonight.

Read the rest here. 🙂