Rude Chicken Goes Back In Time!

Ancient Insults for Modern Idiots - Chapter 2.

Now with 500% more Muckspout! That’s right ladies and gents! This week Rude Chicken hitchhikes on the Tardis, and we’re going back in time again to revisit some of the sassiest crap flinging word assemblages and bring them Back to the Future for a second look. Because time is relative, and the need to tactfully blow out someones emotional scaffolding is eternal. Lets get to it shall we?

Coxcomb:

Juvenile giggles betray the subtle declarations of our collective immaturity aside, this noun based insult was born in the 16th century. Referring specifically to the rooster like hat that Jesters wore. Because even with their stupid too tight shoes and even stupider too tight pants that looked like embodiment of parachute pants with performance anxiety, everyone was still a critic. Coxcomb over time started to mean a “vain, self obsessed man” that had a penchant for strutting around like a peacock out of a printer with no ink. To be full of ones self with nothing to back it up essentially. Which sounds like every man ever who wears skinny jeans but skips leg day.

Muckspout:

Jumping straight out of the womb of the 17th to 18th centuries, this tidy little gem was used to describe someone who just couldn’t stop themselves from unleashing foul language and obscenities. We’re not talking filth, flarn, or your generic store brand poppycock. No, this person just upends verbal portapotties with 90 degree August heat all over the dinner table. Which in my opinion is less an insult but a virtue, maybe even, a small mercy. Because instead of focusing on your inability to serve palatable food, the other guests are stunned into total silence. I wonder why that baby is crying. Moving on.

Snoutband:

Straight out of the early modern period this one refers to the prick who’s always trying to dominate the conversation with their personal brand of inane drivel. Constantly interrupting or talking over everyone else. It seems even then people dealt with people who had a profound lack of manners, or were so terrifyingly insecure they just couldn’t help themselves from turning everyone around them into collateral damage from their self aggrandizement. “Oh, I’ve got a worse story than that,” “I know where this is going,” and the old standby “Well actually…” are infuriating now. Imagine having some drummed up coxcomb of a fop with his too tight pants, and breath that could strip paint going “Verily, thou art mistaken, good sir” or “Marry, I hold a tale more woeful by far, and it concerneth mine own noble person.” You know, I’m beginning to understand why there were so many wars back then, because I’m about ready to throw on some heavy plate and lay siege to something just writing this. If I show up to Thanksgiving dinner with a warhammer, just let me cook ok?

Holiday dinners festooned with arguments settled by glorious melee combat aside, I love canned cranberry sauce. Jellied or whole berry, they’re both equally exquisite. No one shows up to dinner hoping someone made it from scratch. No one worth staying in regular contact with anyway. Just lump that person in with the strange uncle no one feels comfortable around.

Anyway, this muckspout in particular has other things to do.

Check y’all later.

-RC