Okay everybody. I want you to take a deep breath. Grab a hold of something really tight and don't let go. This one is going to be heavy.

What I have to say here might shock or offend you. You might hate me. You might never read this blog again.

This is about a word in the English language. It's just made up of letters, but it's offensive to many. So offensive, in fact, that in the lexicon of curse words, it's one of the lesser used ones.

Seriously.

Go away now.

Don't read this.

You will be offended and God will smite you for listening to the heresy that I preach.

Got it? Okay, good.

Cunt.

There. I said it. Now grow the fuck up.

I got into a bit of trouble this past weekend in my visit to Tallahassee to see the good Dr. Jarae Sacman. Now I don't want you to think that I go around spouting that word, but I'm not afraid of it. I'm a big boy, I can be responsible with it.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not saying you should use this kind of language around your grandmother or in the office. In fact, you should never use it. And it's your God-given right to be offended by the word.

So Friday night we sat at Sacman's apartment after going out for a bit. We enjoyed the classic film CKY2K with two females. We'll call them "Hippie" and "Bitchy."

Nice girls. Seemed pretty cool. We got along and all was well for the time being.

A song by a loud and obnoxious band is featured in the film CKY2K. The song is called "I Sold Your Dog to a Chinese Restaurant." The band's name is Anal Cunt. These are facts.

"Anal Cunt!" I proclaim when the song comes on, simply naming the band. "Alright, great song."

"WHOA!" Hippie says. "We don't like that word."

"What word?" I ask. "Cunt?" I later realized it would have been funnier if I asked them if they were offended by the word "anal" first.

"WHOA!" both Hippie and Bitchy proclaim. They're taken aback, as if I've pulled out a gun and I'm waving it around carelessly.

"Just don't use that word," Bitchy says. "We really don't like it."

"It's part of the band's name," I say. "Besides, it's just a damn word."

I mean seriously. None of us were going to be winning Bible Reading Club Member of the Month here or anything.

"Well if you keep using it, we're just going to leave," Hippie says.

Oh boy. Nothing gets me going more than threats that are totally non-threatening to me. I bite my tongue and walk to the little boy's room to keep myself from doing what I really want to do: yell "CUNT! CUNT! CUNT! CUNT!" And so I drain the urine out of my system and head back to the couch with a cooler head. The girls, apparently, have decided not to leave.

As I sit down, they both give me dirty looks. At this point I've said the word twice, both in fashions that were not meant to be offensive in any way, shape or form. But then I realize that my time away has not eased the situation, and the conversation is still about, lo and behold, me and my free use of the dreaded word which is used to negatively describe the privates of a female.

"I just can't take it," Hippie says. "It's degrading and offensive and I can't hear it."

At this point, my better judgement has gone out the window, along with my patience for these girls. Without any hesitation, I decide to grab the bag of pretzels on the table and hold it in front of Bitchy and Hippie.

"Excuse me ladies," I say. "Would you like some Cunt Brand Pretzels?"

True to their word, Hippie and Bitchy grabbed their things and left, much to the dismay of my friends, who enjoyed the female companionship.

Regardless, we all agreed it was well worth it.