It’s My Blog and I’ll Say Fuck If I Want To: Defending My Use of the F-Bomb

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Disclaimer: I don’t want to shock anyone, but this post contains unsavoury language and the giving of zero fucks. Not literally. I mean, at last count this post contained at least 15 fucks. I make my mother proud every single day.


Clarification: I am the flakiest and most useless blogger of all time. I started this post in January this year, hence the completely irrelevant reference in my opening paragraph to events that took place 8 months ago. I was reflecting so hard on my failures that I failed to complete this blog post. That’s so fucking meta.


January is the perfect time to reflect on our failures from the previous 12 months, and to lovingly gestate the embryonic potential of new failures to come. I make no secret of the fact that I am an underachieving loser, and it is in this spirit of openness that I share one of my big fat failures from last year.

Goal: Stop saying “fuck” on my blog.

Outcome: You be the judge.

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I did a lot of soul-searching after a couple of friends disclosed that they were uncomfortable with the language on my blog. Ten years ago my colourful response to that would have made Gordon Ramsay look like the Dowager from Downton Abbey, but being older and wiser I took their feedback on board and decided to clean house.

As a result, I spent a good chunk of 2015 stifling my natural urge to drop the f-bomb on a regular basis. In hindsight, it was kind of like telling a teenage boy to stop masturbating; which is to say that it was destined to fail in a messy and shameful way.

In the process I learned two very interesting things:


I’m not going to lie – I was at times being lazy and gratuitous in my use of the word “fuck”. Many times I used the dreaded f-word when it added nothing to the piece, and where a less-offensive option would have been just as effective. Forcing myself to edit most of them out of my work made me a better writer – or has at least made me a more judicious one. Those fucks need to earn their place in my work now (this article entire year is clearly the exception, I realise that…)


A peculiar by-product of censoring all the “fucks” from my essays was that I censored myself everywhere on the blog, to the extent that my authentic voice disappeared up the puckered ring of its own uptight anal cavity.

To be honest, I look at all the lacklustre shit I wrote last year and cringe: it’s very telling that my best post happened when I finally went “FUCK IT”, and wrote without censorship. That one went viral, with over 100 000 views.

The title? “5 Ways You Know That ALDI Fucking Hates You”.

I have since vowed that 2016 is going to be “The Year of Fuck”: I’m gonna put my sweary pants back on, stop worrying and start loving the f-bomb. I sincerely promise that it won’t be open slather, but I’m not going to pretend to be June Dally-Watkins serving high tea on dainty lace doilies either.

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This is who I am: the butcher’s daughter from the western suburbs.

Where I come from, “How ya goin’, ya fuggin’ c*nt” is used as a term of endearment. It’s a bit of a rough area, and local newspapers are rife with reports of assault, armed robbery, theft and drug busts (as opposed to where I live now, which is mostly “Stupid Tourist Walks Over Cliff in Broad Daylight” or “Teenager Defaces School Desk With Permanent Marker”).

At university other students would raise their eyebrows, sneer, visibly recoil or LAUGH IN MY FACE when I told them where I lived (or eye me warily like I might punch them in the fanny and steal their wallet). It was the first time I realised how rampant class snobbery is in Sydney, and it made me more determined than ever to embrace my inner – and outer – bogan.

A blogger who was chatting to me at some crappy brand event said “I hate bloggers who swear because they’re trying to be funny and they think it makes them edgy” (clearly had no idea who she was speaking to – awks). I had to laugh. These words aren’t “edgy”. Anyone in 2016 who still thinks the word “fuck” is edgy needs to grab their crochet blankie and their chamomile tea and go lie the fuck down.

The end result of my fuck-free experiment is that I’ve had to accept that this is me: this is the voice I use when I am most comfortable and completely free to be myself. It’s rude, crass and rough as guts. It’s the half-drunk bar wench holding court in a dark corner of a dingy pub. The potty-mouthed friend who cusses like a motherfucker but can talk like she has a plum in her mouth when she needs to.

The upshot is that I’ve stopped worrying whether my use of language upsets or alienates people, because what I’ve discovered in three years of blogging is that people who want to be offended will find a reason to take offence anyway, no matter how vanilla you are. So you might as well be yourself.

And if all of this cussing is not your cup of chamomile tea, there’s an entire blogosphere teeming with DIY crochet tutorials, boring-as-fuck flat lays and polite discourse about freshly-baked fudge cookies. All cool, let’s shake hands and bid each other a fond fucking adieu. If you’re lucky, you’ll leave with your wallet intact.


53 thoughts on “It’s My Blog and I’ll Say Fuck If I Want To: Defending My Use of the F-Bomb

  1. Fuck those who have a problem with saying ‘fuck’. Say it and write it loud and proud Hugzy! I’m with you. Who gives a flying fuck, eh? 😛

    On another note, my mum once told me to refrain from swearing on my blog as it didn’t sound too good. I love my mum but I told her to stop reading if that was the case.

    • It’s not the word so much as the manner in which it is deployed. You my friend have elevated the use of ‘fuck’ to an art form. I can relate to your struggle however – Mumabs has tried in the past to reign in the beefcake but the inner pevert always resurfaces. Embrace the dirty.

  2. You are just fucking adorable! “Don’t go changing, to try and please me… Blah, blah, blah… I love you just the way you are”. Some people Just need to get Billy Joel’d. Of course their choice shall be respected. 😉 Xx

  3. Freaking love this post. And yes isn’t Sydney a rampant with class snobbery, I noticed that when I worked and lived there. I worked for Penrith, Star Marys and Mt Druitt Star, some of the nicest peeps live in that part of town. Snobs shit me to tears. You, I love your guts. As for swearing being edgy, it’s not edgy, it’s just how we speak IRL xxxx

  4. Sticking with Sandra’s musical theme, I think this blog post should be re-titled “It’s my blog and I can say fuck if I want to” (to the tune of the 80’s classic “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.) Totes would sing it, but I’m tone deaf. Love your work, fucks and all. Keep the blog posts and f bombs coming…

  5. Well I use the word ‘fudge’ on my blog instead of that other expletive but that’s only because me Dad reads it and carries on like a fuckin pork chop if I swear. I’m still laughing at “my authentic voice disappeared up the puckered ring of its own uptight anal cavity.”

  6. Fuck yes! I also have a confession to make…I went to a June Dally-Watkins course when I was a teenager. Complete with a dinner where we were presented with certificates to prove our ladiness. I shit you not.

    • Weirdly, no! I have so much respect for them and it kind of shocked me because I grew up in a family where it was kind of standard. It made me look outside of my bubble to realise that not everyone had the same upbringing as me. It was because of that respect that I tried to make it work for so long, but it just wasn’t me.

  7. It is not so much the word but its artful deployment that makes Hugzilla awesome.
    Meanwhile I feel your pain and then some on the class snobbery thing!!! Imagine coming from the Sutherland Shire… 😉

  8. The funny thing is that while reading this and nodding to myself I realised that blaring from the other room was Shirley Manson singing “I came to fuck you up…”. Lol. Go you.

  9. Hehe well you know I blog in the same colourful dialect as you so no judgement here. I am from Newcastle after all 😉 I love the “edgy” quip. Dear lord. I’m so bogan I even swear with my kids around sometimes. I *try* not to but some days I am just too tired and only a “FFS” will do. Keep on being you. REAL is the best flavour whether that be edgy or vanilla xx

  10. I’ve never understood why people get offended by swearing in blog posts. Honestly, if you don’t like it then don’t fucking read it! It’s that simple. But for some reason people like to torture themselves, and then torture those around them by whinging. I used to swear a LOT on my blog, but I’ve found I don’t do it anywhere near as much as I used to, probably because I’ve had to curtail my potty mouth mightily since I reproduced two tiny voice recorders who repeat every damn word I say, usually to my mother (who HATES swearing!).

    Now that I think about it, I realise that the way I speak on my blog has evolved with the way I speak at home, so give it another few years, once both munchkins are at school and I’m at home alone and free to swear as much as I want (and hopefully both voice recorders have learned not to repeat what Mummy says) and it will probably come back in a BIG way!

    • Yeah it’s weird, hey. I think the swearing in my blog is actually a reaction to the fact that I have to strenuously curtail it during the day for the kids. I think it all gets pent up and needs to come out in a safe adult space. LOL!

  11. I swear sooo much but on my blog it feels weird to, so I always feel right at home in your sweary part of the dingy pub. I’m a late bloomer anyways so give me a few years and I’ll be right there with you lol! xx

  12. My Mum, hubby and in-laws read my blog; they come down in the classy, decidedly NON-sweary, slightly boring camp. However my potty-mouthed sister and mates read it too, plus I WRITE the fucking thing and I love to swear (although not gratuitously; it totally loses its power if overused so I only do it if the situation calls for it. Or I’m amused by it) so in they go. It’s funny but the sweariest post I ever wrote was a tribute to Billy Connolly, and I was a bit worried about publishing it – MY MUM READS IT AFTER ALL!! But I went ahead and it was one of my most popular posts and everyone was fine with it. At least, if Mum was shocked and offended she was supportive enough to not say anything. And the rellies still talk to me too, though they might be giving me the side eye without my knowledge.

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