Cussing with Dad or Cursing the Devil with Mom by jihadgene

Right off'n the get go, I want to tell you all, or y'all (Texas talk), that I do "occasionally" curse. Damn, I hope my Elder Sister Carol doesn't read this sh*t!. Usually, when I'm really pissed-off, I will "occasionally" use some rather "rough" language. Is pissed-off considered cursing? My Mom would say it is, but she was a Jehovah's Witness, and according to her if a kid didn't wash his neck and behind his little ears, then he most certainly wouldn't survive Armageddon. *F* that! If I dared say anything with the "S" word (SEX) my Mom would freek out and start prayin'. Awhile back I asked Elder Sister Carol if she thought Mom knew what oral sex was. Carol, being much older (with a bad ass-kickin knee), and admittedly much wiser, responded (after laughing her ass off) with a flat-out NO! I said... poor Dad... and then Carol pointed out that that well may have been a blessing for Dad. I gotta think she's right on this. After all, a song like "I'm too SEXY for my Shirt" would send Mom, straight-up, into a 5 day prayer-vigil and spiritual war with Satan's Demons. When supplied with a combat-load of Awake magazines and The New World Translation, she could send those cuss words & Demons straight back to where they came from! Anyways, my Dad, who was a US Marine, a fighter of Japs and malaria in WWII, pretty much taught me the Art of War (when pissed) and the Art of Cussing (when pissed). My Dad was pissed a lot. Dad also taught me how to curse in just good old everyday conversation, like when talking to my Uncle Bob. Trouble was that my Uncle Bob and my Dad NEVER. EVER. had a good old everyday conversation.
I remember in 1966 when we drove to Uncle Bob's in Fairfield, California in our beautiful new 1966 Chevrolet Chevelle station wagon. Their good old everyday conversation went like this...
(To be continued...damn it!!!)