The Lucrative Side of Blogging: Bad Manners Sell

I didn’t always have a completely raunchy sense of humor. At age 12, I went to see Dumb & Dumber with my friend Richard (probably the lewdest person I know)(sorry Richard, but it’s true) and declared it a “completely disgusting” and “utterly offensive” work of film. I was one straight-edged little preteen apparently.

Ten years later, my father walked into the family room to find my sister and me watching one of our favorite movies, Super Troopers. Why is it that fathers have a knack for walking in at the worst possible moment? I could be watching a movie that’s all rainbows and picnics for two hours, but my dad manages to walk in during the three-minute, obscenity-filled sex scene.

Overall Super Troopers is an exceptionally raunchy movie. But my father dropped by during the worst scene of all. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say it involved a risqué billboard with a half-naked woman, a state trooper and a radar gun. My dad (who watches BBC miniseries for fun) sat down on the couch, watched the television screen for about 20 seconds as my sister and I stifled our laughter, then stood up to leave, but before he went, he left us with these words: “You’re debauched.”

I would have been offended if it weren’t so true. I don’t really know how I got here, but I think it has something to do with an upbringing completely devoid of scatology. Farting jokes had no place in our household, so by my teen years my version of acting out was cursing like a sailor and burping loudly. Some kids drink, some smoke weed. I told dirty jokes. Pretty tame, right? To each their own forbidden fruit, I suppose. The fact that I got away with being disgusting in our fairly strict household definitely irked my sister.

The truth is that I didn’t technically swear. I came up with a new cursing language, which consisted of words like fook, shite and ace-holly. My mother thought these little expressions were hilariously clever, and she would respond with a little chuckle and an “oh you; you’re so silly!” while my sister rolled her eyes and wondered, “why do you let HER get away with it?” Meanwhile, when we were in my sister’s room (next to my father’s study) I would burp loudly and then yell, “GOD! Johanna, that’s repulsive.” I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone, but being improper entertained me to no end.

My gross sense of humor was only exacerbated after college when all of my girlfriends scattered across the country, leaving me alone in D.C. with a bunch of frat boys for friends. Well I suppose I had one girlfriend from high school in D.C., but TheRom.com and her band of bartending friends are not exactly good influences, as anyone who knows them can attest. Anyway, I quickly gained recognition for my exceptional belching skills and ability to laugh at any joke, no matter how filthy.

Luckily I keep my lewdness in check these days, because I have a tremendous outlet. It’s called the internet. Blogs like GoFugYourself, TheSuperficial and Peapod's blogs (if he updated them more: IHateDelRay and Chronicles of Milwee) do the trick, but no blog holds a candle to BadNewsHughes, which strives to “punch people in the face by using the internet.”

Warning: if you have even a minor sense of decency, I don’t recommend visiting this site. Dad, I’m talking to you. Luckily, I have none, so I visit often and usually laugh myself to tears while reading about this guy’s upbringing. On the last visit, he gave links to Hughes family Christmas celebrations in 2004 and 2005. Let’s just say that the jello shots, nakedness and general debauchery he recounted made my family tradition of eating waffles for dinner on Christmas Eve seem a LOT less outlandish.

Anyway, he had a link on the site, which I happened to click on and it transported me to an Amazon.com page where his book will be sold come March. At first, I was convinced that he had created an impostor Amazon page so that it appeared that he had a book coming out, but upon further examination, it turns out the page is real. He got a book deal out of his blog, and the book will be called Diary of Indignities. Think David Sedaris’ Me Talk Pretty One Day, but multiply the raunch factor by about 100.

Anyway, this made me feel really good. And sort of sad. Why does this shmo from Florida have a book deal? Maybe instead of spending $40,000 on a master’s degree to become a writer, I should just start writing about my warts (I have two) and tattoos (I don't have any, but I want to get a windmill on my wrist. I don't know why). Well the good news is that there are a lot of other burping degenerates (or at least people who APPRECIATE burping degenerates) out there. But until my father becomes one of those people, I think I’ll keep blaming my indiscretions on my sister.