At the White House Correspondent’s Dinner, Michelle Wolf spewed out more profanity than I’ve ever heard in any swabbie locker room. The deliberate use of formerly forbidden cursing reminds me of an old Navy joke, where a sailor relates his evening’s adventure. You supply the appropriate words.
On my last effing liberty night ashore in effing San Francisco, I took an effing taxi to this effing bar. I saw this effing girl and we got to talking. After a dozen effing drinks, we went to her effing apartment. We got effing cozy on her effing couch, and then we indulged in consensual sexual intercourse.