Wicked Foulmouthery! You can't kill the Rooster!

My nautical perspective comes naturally. While other infants were coaxed to sleep with, well, I don't know (that's the point!), but I'm sure it wasn't sea shanties. My mother uncorked sea shanties on my sister and me when we were but wee. The effect, in hindsight, was predictable, but there was some surprise when, upon having my green crayon stolen by fellow second grader Aidan Frompolov (I only had the 8 pack and I couldn't afford the loss of a color so important), I screamed "You scurvy son of a whore! I'm going to see you keel hauled!" Miss Whinny had to play it back to herself a couple of times before she realized this was something that was punishable with corporal punishment. Upon reaching the S-bomb conclusion, she sent me to Mr McGrumpole's office for one more in a endless series of spankings that characterized my K-12 development.

So, if I resort to a bawdy retort, I try to use it like a powerful, but highly prized, spice. I have cultivated an appreciation for thems that can do it, too, and a reverence for Masters of the Craft.

David Sedaris is a Master of the Craft. From Me Talk Pretty One Day, You Can't Kill the Rooster:

"The Rooster" is what Paul calls himself when he feels threatened. Asked how he came up with that name, he says only, "Certain motherfuckers think they can fuck with my shit, but you can't kill the Rooster. You might can fuck him up sometimes, but, bitch, nobody kills the motherfucking Rooster. You know what I'm saying?