To: thefactor
Fantastic show ...
but for the gratuitously foul language ... 32 'C-cks-ck-rs' in 40 minutes of airtime, not to mention the 'f-cks' and 'c-nts' ad nauseum. I'm not prude, but that actually gets rather tiresome as do adolescents in their puerility.
Great show, though.
14 posted on
06/16/2004 9:10:45 AM PDT by
dodger
To: dodger
"but for the gratuitously foul language ... 32 'C-cks-ck-rs' in 40 minutes of airtime, not to mention the 'f-cks' and 'c-nts' ad nauseum. I'm not prude, but that actually gets rather tiresome as do adolescents in their puerility." Spot on Dodger! I have been known to use colorful metaphors myself but when they are used like punctuation marks they lose their effectiveness.
It seems like Richard Prior wrote the script.
34 posted on
06/16/2004 9:33:46 AM PDT by
Wurlitzer
(I have the biggest organ in my town {;o))
To: dodger
I stopped by to watch when the series first started, but didn't make through more than a half dozen 'C-cks-ck-rs'. The foul language serves no useful purpose, except to shock that small segment of the population that can still be shocked. It's only words, I know, but I'd rather spend the little free time I have healing, rather than corrupting, my already polluted mind.
Makes me wonder who HBO writes this stuff for. Certaily not for me or my family.
36 posted on
06/16/2004 9:45:45 AM PDT by
dohcacr
(Google url)
To: dodger
agreed. we're a broad-minded house when it comes to language (not taxes!!!), but the deluge of gratuitously rude words is just too much. There's no need for it in such volumes. Spice spoils a meal when overused, ask any chef, and it's the same with salty language.
To: dodger
I agree, too many F***'s & C*** S******. The inclusion of so many explicatives is a sign of intelectual laziness.It would appear from letters from the day that speech was much more formal in the late 1800's. Just read Sullivan Ballou"s letter to his wife written during the civil war.
July 14, 1861
Camp Clark, Washington
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few daysperhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willingperfectly willingto lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to meperhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . .
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