The F Bomb

This tool is Saturday Night Live's newest addition, Jenny Slate, and that name alone makes me think she was a character on "The Flintstones." Nevertheless, she had an ignoble debut on the show's season premiere by accidentally uttering the "F Bomb." Hand wringing all around one more time. Tsk, tsk. How could this be? But, still, doesn't this seem to happen at least once or twice a season?

Those of us on the West Coast get cheated when these bloopers happen live. They are usually cut out of the tape-delayed West Coast feed. And, frankly, if they occur after the first five minutes of the program, I will contend that nobody sees it because, generally, the last 85 minutes of SNL every week are unwatchable. The show stopped being funny about ten years ago around the last time producer Lorne Michaels had a creative thought. Here's a guy who shepherds this weekly swill and is essentially robbing NBC blind. The program is really nothing more than a playpen for a bunch of young actors who love to do vomit and penis jokes at the Groundlings comedy club. And Lorne reminds me of the schoolteacher who sits back while the kids are torching the school and reminds them not to play with matches.

Oddly enough, during SNL's first five years (of its confounding 35 year run), you'd be surprised to know that the "F Bomb" was never uttered accidentally or intentionally once. Amid all the sex, drugs, and rock n' roll of the Belushi/Aykroyd/Murray crowd, they still managed to toe the FCC line of decency. How? As amazing as it may sound, they were professionals.

And in a different day and time. Because, nowadays, the "F Bomb" is as common as water from your tap.

It's a fascinating word. A verb, a noun, a pronoun, an adjective, and an adverb. It can be interjected into any sentence willy nilly. Heck, in the freestyle mode of writing this blog, I sometimes resort to it myself. I try not to, but, sometimes, it just fits perfectly. The ideal four-letter exclamation point.

But, frankly, it works best when used sparingly. At least in writing and everyday conversation. Unfortunately, like fast food and text messages, it has virtually infiltrated every segment of our lives.

Look no further than Facebook. And especially those on that social network under the age of 25. As much as I despise Facebook, I'm on it and I like to check in once a day to read the so-called walls. I am appalled by what I see. F this, f that, f you, f her, f your mother. And this is the youth of America. Many of them attached to me or other friends in some fashion.

What just happened to us? I'm no prude about foul language, but there is an art to dropping the "F Bomb." Like everything else in our world, even that is now abused.

So, Jenny Slate's faux pas is no shocker to me. It's just another day at the freakin' office of life.

Dinner last night: Bacon wrapped filet mignon and stuffed tomatoes.

Tomorrow: Hopefully from somewhere in the South. Zip-a-dee-doo-dah...my, oh, my, what a wonderful day!