Here are some glorious insults are from an era “before” the English language got boiled down to 4-letter words.A member of Parliament to Disraeli:“Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease.”“That depends, Sir, “ said Disraeli, “whether I embrace your policies or your mistress.”
“He had delusions of adequacy .”-Walter Kerr
“He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.”– Winston Churchill
“I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure.”-Clarence Darrow
“He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.”-William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)
“Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I’ll waste no time reading it.”-Moses Hadas
“I didn’t attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.”-Mark Twain
“He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends.”-Oscar Wilde
“I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend, if you have one.”-George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill“Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second… if there is one.”-Winston Churchill, in response.
“I feel so miserable without you; it’s almost like having you here.”-Stephen Bishop
“He is a self-made man and worships his creator.”-John Bright
“I’ve just learned about his illness. Let’s hope it’s nothing trivial.”-Irvin S. Cobb
“He is not only dull himself; he is the cause of dullness in others.”-Samuel Johnson
“He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up.”– Paul Keating
“In order to avoid being called a flirt, she always yielded easily.”-Charles, Count Talleyrand
“He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.”-Forrest Tucker
“Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?”-Mark Twain
“His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.”-Mae West
“Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.”-Oscar Wilde
“He uses statistics as a drunken man uses lamp-posts… for support rather than illumination.”-Andrew Lang (1844-1912)
“He has Van Gogh’s ear for music.”-Billy Wilder
“I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But I’m afraid this wasn’t it.”-Groucho Marx
I’m writing a screenplay, and a musical, and what that means besides a whole lot of hair pulling and teeth gnashing is: I have to be able to tell a compelling story in a little over a hundred pages (depending who you talk to) and write dialogue. Lots and lots of snappy dialogue.
Hopefully, I can raise my game and it will be much smarter and funnier than anything I could ever hope to say.
Every day I re-read the pages and ask myself (or the character) How can we say that better?
When you do enough homework on your characters (one year and a half of character development for the play), you can put them in almost any situation and they’ll write the dialogue for themselves while you sit back and take dictation. If I get stuck I’m too much in my head, over thinking things, and I need a chocolate break.
How can we say that better?
Sarcasm is too easy. Irony is sarcasm’s older, smarter brother.
A well-articulated fight scene is better than a simple Fuck you!
Fuck you is too easy. It’s lazy.
When two characters are able to state their respective points of view in a witty and entertaining way, well, jackpot!
If they stoop to hurling witless insults it bores me, and the next day it won’t make the cut.
Again, it’s pedestrian writing. Much too uninspired.
I’ve started to translate this way of thinking to my personal life. I can’t tell you how many times a DAY I demand from myself:
How can you say that better?
Am I mad; or sad? What’s my motivation here? Do I have a compelling argument or do I just need to eat? Will I lob a Fuck You or will I say what I mean?—You hurt my feelings!
The reason I bring this up is that I’m extremely disappointed in the G.O.P. Even more so than usual.
What’s with the huge public support of Donald Trump and why are they backing him by having him at the debate tonight? He’ll bring to the debate what Mike Tyson brought to the Evander Holyfield fight. If he feels outmatched, he’ll get frustrated and make the easy choice—he’ll fight dirty. He’s the verbal equivalent of an ear biter. And he’s incredibly mean-spirited.
He has elevated public humiliation and mean spiritedness to a spectator sport. People are going to tune in just to see who he will verbally eviscerate, and I for one am disgusted. Do we want a bully for President of the United States?
Does he have a platform? Can he form an argument that doesn’t insult my intelligence? Can he actually debate? My nineteen year old nephew could craft a better argument than what I’ve heard from him so far.
In our school debates we would be disqualified if we leveled verbal “low blows” disguised as insults.
We had to know our shit, We had to have done our homework. No ear biting. Mean was not allowed—too easy. You’d look foolish and lazy if you showed up unprepared.
As I’ve watched him spew his vitriol, insulting a war veteran and an entire race of people, just to name a few, I’ve wanted to scream at the television.
Donald! How can you say that better?
Do your homework! Stop being so lazy! Stop acting so banal!
You don’t think McCain’s a war hero? Tell me about your deferments!
You want tighter immigration restrictions? Lay out a better plan than having Mexicans build a wall.
Insults should get you disqualified.
Mean spiritedness shouldn’t get laughs. Really people? Humor is smart. Insults are not.
Tonight, Donald Trump will take the place of, and steal the spotlight from, another candidate who is articulate and better qualified. Right? I mean, I’m as disenchanted as I am I’m certain that man exists.
The stakes are high you guys. This isn’t his reality show boardroom—it’s a run for the Oval Office.
Will Trump become the Presidential nominee for the Republican Party? Stay tuned to this developing plot in his latest reality fiasco.
And as sick as that possibility makes me, as a Democrat, I hope so.
Carry on,
xox
“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all”
~ My Mom~
She’d usually lob that nugget of wisdom behind her, into the backseat of the car, where my brother and sister and I were calling each other “doodie heads” or something worse.
That directive felt like a HUGE challenge to me, since everything bugged me and I could never keep my mouth shut. It may as well have been a vow of silence, which I tried once – and thought I would rather die.
We weren’t allowed to “tattle” either, and it was our “go to” pastime as children.
She just would not have any of it.
“I don’t care – work it out.” She’d snort, exasperated, after hearing hours of “he did this” and “she said that.”
If we weren’t bleeding and could still walk upright, her complaint department was closed.
“Tell your troubles to Jesus” was an old favorite.
It would leave her mouth the minute she sensed a sour face walking in her direction. She wouldn’t even turn her head your way.
That one was Kryptonite; nothing could turn a disgruntled Catholic kid around faster than a suggestion of a bitch session with the Almighty. Too much like confession.
Plus, I knew even then, that Jesus would just laugh.
“Methinks thou doth protest too much” Is from William Shakespeare’s Hamlet – and my mom.
Us kids could get very dramatic, and I was, by far, the worst of the bunch.
My mom nicknamed me Desdemona, who is a character from Othello, ( yeah she’s clearly THAT mom) because of my histrionics. I could bring the crowd to its feet over a burnt grilled cheese sandwich, or tangled hair.
“Children are to be seen and not heard.”
That was saved for those occasions when we had adult company at the house. It was the sixties and everyone said that to their kids, so I’ll give her a pass.
Of course it never applied to me.
I’d politely meet a complete stranger, and then ask them if they’d like to hear a special song I’d prepared for that evening.
Precocious? Ya think?!
But her best words of wisdom, the ones I’ve taken with me into adulthood, into the world of internet haters, are these:
“Consider the source (honey).”
She’d just calmly shake her head and tisk a few tisks, clearly signifying the completely misguided nature of the comment that had made me cry, by someone who had NO business ruining my day.
“Well that just doesn’t sound like a smart boy” or “their mother lets them stay up past midnight” or “they don’t wear shoes.”
I’d weigh that against the insult – and immediately feel better.
I still do to this day.
Well played mom.
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