When words turn flammable we call them “f-words.” They’re too hot to utter.
F***. — The granddaddy of f-words. All f-words trace their ancestry to this one. It’s unsafe for print and held flammable by stare decisis until Alito. In the formerly-United-K, striving-to-again-be-Great Britain, it’s a staple of effing and blinding.
Fascist. — British radio presenter James O’Brien says “f-word,” when he means “fascist,” referring to policies proposed and enacted by the Tory government. The Tories hate the word. He doesn’t give a fig, does he? He knows it’s flammable and flaunts it in their faces.
Filibuster. — Laws are plucked and spatchcocked with the Senate filibuster. They bleed out because they need 60 votes to pass. It lets the few ride herd on the many. “Filibuster,” formerly a fiddle and a fudge, is a McF-word now in the Speaker’s honor.
Fifth. — The ex-brass looked like a man with his cahooties in a vise. Fifth! he croaked, when asked if he believed in the peaceful transition of government. A pettifogger manhandles the dodgy plea into: My client prefers to keep his innocence to himself. “Fifth” leaves a skidmark on the polity’s underpants. It’s an f-word now, except when used for bourbon.
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