if the C-word offends you...you're probably a cunt...

It recently occurred to me that these days the word ‘CUNT’ has lost much of its impact !!! There was a time when it was the King of Insults; chicks would fly into a rage at its mere utterance irrespective of whether it was used specifically in reference to them or not. Dropping the C-Bomb was a potential date-ender, a friendship-destroyer and a marriage-killer…it was once the most fearsome anti-chick weapon in the entire arsenal of verbal mass-destruction. For example…
‘You’re a pathetic fuck-head with a fat gut, bald head and a pencil dick !!!’
‘Oh yeah…well you’re a cunt.’
Game over.
‘Why do you have to be such a selfish asshole all the time ???’
‘Why are you such a cunt ???’
Tears.
‘Why can’t you be more of a man…like my father ???’
‘Why do you have to be a cunt all the time…like your mother.’
The end.
It was the equivalent of using a tactical nuke in a minor border-conflict, it had instant, devastating effect (and consequences); you knew you’d crossed the line just from the horrified look on the chick’s face.
I remember once calling my ex-wife a cunt in Tokyo; she was a bit PMS’d-up, yelling all sorts of vile things at me, throwing stuff around the apartment and threatening to call her Dad and tell him what I’d said.
‘Go ahead and call him, you cunt.’
She did…and she told him what I said…then she threw the phone at my head and said he wanted a word with me.
‘Fingers, why did you call my daughter a cunt ???’
‘Well Roger, it’s like this…yada yada yada…blah blah blah…this this this…that that that…it was either the C-word or a good hard slap across the face.’
‘I see. OK, put that little cunt back on the phone then…’

About thirty years ago, the first time I ever called my dear old Mum a cunt, she grabbed a wooden spoon, chased me round the house for twenty minutes before cornering me, whacking me over the head and throwing me out into the street for the night. Two weeks ago, after I told her I’d been fined for calling a cop something offensive she laughed and said, ‘You silly cunt.’

My oldest, dearest, most favourite blogger in the whole world, Kitty the sewer-mouthed whore-bag, probably out-scores me two-to-one in the CPP (cunts per post) stakes these days. Not to mention some of the delightful banter we’ve had privately on Facebook.
‘Cunty McFingers…you are the cuntiest cunting cunty cunt cunt in the whole world…in fact you are a Mastercunt.’

There was once a time when I knew that if I needed to speak to a senior person at the Commonwealth Bank, all I had to do was call the poor chick manning the phone-tree ‘a useless cunt’ and she’d be forced to refer the abuse to her superior. Now I get Christmas cards from them addressed to; ‘Fingers @ Unit 1, XX Cunt Point Rd, Cunt Point, 2027’…