I realize you were enjoying your day and the fireworks, but loud, drunken profanity in the presence of a couple dozen young children is uncalled-for.
You are cordially invited to wash your mouths out with shitsoap.
Thank you.
“What’s the problem, Johnson?”
“Well, sir, we’ve had, well, kind of a, well, mishap down in Vat 3.”
“A mishap?”
“Yes sir.”
Awkward pause.
“Johnson, would you kindly tell me what kind of mishap?”
“Oh, right, sorry, yes. Um. Well. We had a bit of a problem with the pipes.”
“The pipes?”
“Um, yes.”
“Didn’t we just replace the pipes for Vat 3?”
“Well, yes, and see, that’s the problem. We told Mitchell to rehook the pipes.”
“Mitchell? Dave Mitchell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What in God’s name were you thinking?”
“Well, sir… I have no idea. I can’t believe I told him to do that.”
“How did he screw up this time?”
“Well, sir, he hooked up in the input pipe to the wrong line. So the vat wasn’t really getting rendered fat into it any more.”
“The wrong line? Christ, the only pipes near there are the rendered fat line and the… oh, dear sweet Jesus in heaven.”
“Yes.”
“The sewage pipes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How bad is it, Johnson?”
“42,000 bars of shitsoap, sir.”
“Dear God.”
Tranquilis, I agree completely. That is uncalled for. But that’s not what I came in here for.
Sweet Jesus, John, that’s absolutely hysterical! 
OK, I’m done now. Bye.
Still laughing
A few years back, I cordially offered some over-modulated, trash-mouthed buffoon a “lesson in manners” during an Independence Day fireworks bash.
He unashamedly told me that the loudmouth was, in fact, his not-yet-adult teenage brother.
Ahhh… that’s the way to take it like a man!
I’ve got tears from laughing. Thank you, John C, that’s precisely what I needed this morning!
Thank you, Tranquilis. The phrase “shit soap” just boggled my mind, and I felt a need to expound upon it.
Nothing like a little ire to inspire a creative phrase.