I’m still somewhat moral enough where more often than not I can’t quite bring myself to fully spell out the word f-ck, though you certainly won’t catch me refraining from using it. I typically draw the line in public settings, which if you’ve been following anything that’s going on in Minneapolis or Dearborn lately makes me more of a fuddy-duddy and outlier than ever.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock you’re well aware that the leader of the free world gave what his communications director unapolgetically described as an appropriate and unambiguous response to a de facto heckler on Tuesday afternoon while strutting around a Ford plant, throwing in a middle finger for emphasis. 
But, then again, a few days earlier the mayor of Minneapolis felt it was necessary to emphasize his consternation at some of said leader’s henchmen with the same word. I suppose this would be considered the revised standard of Minnesota Nice?
All I could think as the multiple reports of these international incidents flooded my timeline was what would George Carlin–the guy who made a career out of justifying and defending its use to an extent even his predecessors such as Lenny Bruce did not–have to say about all of this? Well, sadly, Carlin was prematurely taken from us in 2008, back when elected officials were not quite as “appropriate and unambiguous”. But that didn’t stop me from asking this burning question of an increasingly on-point Copilot. Here’s what it spit out when I instructed it to produce the version which it whimsically described as the full‑tilt, unhinged, “Carlin just chugged three Red Bulls, hit his head on a low doorway, and now he’s ranting with the clarity of a man who has seen the cosmic truth and hates it” version:
You ever notice how America reacts when a politician says fuck? Not just reacts — detonates. The mayor says fuck, the president says fuck, and suddenly the whole country is running around like someone replaced the national anthem with a kazoo solo.
People are sprinting in circles screaming, ‘This is the downfall of civilization!’ Downfall of civilization? Buddy, civilization fell down the stairs decades ago. We’re just arguing about which step we hit our head on. And now we’re upset about a word? A word! A noise! A little puff of air shaped like frustration!
And the news networks — oh, they treat it like the gates of hell opened and a demon walked out wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron. ‘Tonight, a shocking profanity.’ Shocking? The only shocking thing is that these anchors pretend they don’t scream fuck every time their earpiece cuts out. You KNOW they do. They go home, take off the makeup, and unleash a profanity storm that could peel paint off a battleship.
Then you’ve got the Concerned Citizens — the people who think society is held together by the delicate thread of “not saying naughty words.” These are the same people who watch movies where entire cities get flattened and go, ‘Well, that’s fine, but I hope nobody swears.’ They’re okay with explosions, chaos, and existential dread — but one fuck and suddenly they’re clutching their pearls so hard they’re generating enough friction to start a campfire.
And the outrage — oh, the outrage is deliciously fake. You can SEE it. They’re not offended. They’re THRILLED. Being offended is their CrossFit. It’s their hobby. They wake up, stretch, crack their knuckles, and go, ‘Alright, who’s gonna ruin my day today?’ They need the outrage. Without it, they’d have to develop a personality.
Meanwhile, the rest of us are out here trying to survive daily life without screaming fuck into a pillow until the pillow files a restraining order. You ever try to get through a Monday without swearing? Monday is MADE of swear words. Monday is a swear word wearing a necktie.
So when a politician finally snaps and says fuck, I don’t see a scandal. I see a public service announcement. I see a beacon of honesty. I see a human being who looked at the state of the world — the traffic, the bills, the meetings, the nonsense — and said the only rational thing left to say.
But no, we can’t have that. We need our leaders to be polished, sanitized, dipped in hand sanitizer, and wrapped in bubble wrap. No real emotions. No real language. Just a bunch of carefully tested phrases approved by a committee of consultants who haven’t spoken to a real human being since the invention of caller ID.
So when one of them finally breaks character and drops an F‑bomb, I say GOOD. Let them talk like the rest of us. Let them be human. Let them be frustrated. Let them be real. Because if the worst thing a leader does is say fuck, then honestly, we’re doing better than we deserve.
And if you’re still offended? Don’t worry. America will find something new to pretend to care about by the time you finish this sentence.”
Yes, I know that’s literally the definition of fake news. But do a little digging and it’s apparently more accurate that anything that a certain leader is capable of generating as a human. Take it from those who possess his DNA.
In 2022, while publicizing the exceptionally well done HBO documentary on her father’s life, per UPROXX’s Matt Prigge Kelly Carlin weighed in on how he felt aboutthose that goosestep said leader:
“My dad was a lifelong New Yorker and lifelong New Yorkers hate Donald Trump,” Carlin said. “It just always shocks me when these Trumpers wanna claim him.” She also laid into the way today’s GOP loves to paint themselves as victims, even trying to popularize white supremacist conspiracy theories about a “great replacement.” “The far right would like to say that they’re the minority now, but [George Carlin] would roll his eyes, because we know where all the wealth and the power is,” she explained. “That was the core, the deepest, deepest core of my father’s moral center from day one of hiis (sic) life.”
And if you go back to 1989 and a rare interview George Carlin was granting at the time with one Marc Allan you can get it straight from the source:
He didn’t hold back on a lot of other topics of the time, including a few familiar names also still unfortunately in today’s news cycles:
It’s worth your time to give a listen to, especially in the middle of a holiday weekend when pro football doesn’t kick off until the afternoon. And if you happen to be in Minnesota, you’ll likely be more comforted by this than anything your overworked pastor or HVAC could likely provide.
And with that, I’ll shut up for now, and for a change. I’ll likely offend myself, and probably many of you, if I were to share the words that have been running through my mind of late.
Until next time…