You wake up half an hour late for an important meeting at work. You jump in the shower but the water comes out all rusty and you are out of shampoo. There’s no clean shirts in your closet. You get dressed as best you can, run downstairs. No time for breakfest!
You grab the carton of milk and chug it, only to discover it’s clabbered. Blehhh! You spit it out all over your suit. You run up stairs and change into an even dirtier shirt and suit.
Back downstairs, Where’s the keys?
You find them, grab your briefcase, only you didn’t lock it last night so when you pick it up everything falls out.
You jump into your car. Oh no! You left your lights on last night!
Never mind, you take your wife’s car to work.
Jumping out of the car, thank God! You’re barely in time for that important presentation with your top client. You go to the trunk and open it, but…
You realize your briefcase (with your presentation in it of course) is back in the trunk of your car, at home.
Everybody in your offic eis standing there wondering what happened to you.
It’s been building… You slam the trunk. You stand there. And all of a sudden it comes out. Your ultimate curse!
You raise your fist to the sky and…
Scylla, you wrote this whole thing just to justify using the word “clabbered,” didn’t ya?
Come on. Admit it.
It’s a neat word that you hardly ever get to use, and the urge to use it just overcame you, so made up this whole other thing in a blatantly transparent attempt to be able to type c-l-a-b-b-e-r-e-d.
I’m not even British–but I usually say “Bloody Hell!” really loud.
For some reason–the words, when used together–just ‘feel’ really powerful when I say them under an incensed circumstance. It helps relieve a lot of the tension.
mutfuk utfuk ama fakette!!!
Turkish for “the kitchen is small, but it doesn’t matter” sounds a whole lot more sinister in english, and has a bilt in reply to thoses who do not like people using colorful language around them/their kids.
I’ll tell ya what, when I’ve reached the point where I must decide between “bellow of rage” on the one hand or “psychotic fugue” on the other, and I opt for the former, I find the tried-and-true to be the best. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as a giant “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”. It’s got the same sort of primal, deeper-level-of-the-cosmos thing goin’ on as “aum”, but with more of what a television exec might call “edginess”.
I’ll tell ya what, when I’ve reached the point where I must decide between “bellow of rage” on the one hand or “psychotic fugue” on the other, and I opt for the former, I find the tried-and-true to be the best. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as a giant “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”. It’s got the same sort of primal, deeper-level-of-the-cosmos thing goin’ on as “aum”, but with more of what a television exec might call “edginess”.
I once said this in front of a rather innocent and naive girlfriend after discovering that I had lost my car keys in the lake and we were the last people there… I do believe that she had never heard anything like it. Poor girl.
