I Want to Swear Like Colonel Potter

For a long time now I've harbored a secret desire. One that I thought made me “different” or “mildly eccentric”. But I've come to the realization that we all chart different courses through this great maelstrom that is life, and have decided to suppress my natural desires no more. I want to swear like Colonel Potter.

Yes, that beloved fogey of the small, olive drab screen as played by our esteemed friend Harry Morgan. How I long for that man's mastery of the colorful simile, his conjuring of metaphors so beloved and folksy you can't help but smile at their hearing. Even if they are cleverly telling you where you can place your head, in opposition to all accepted anatomical teachings.

If you tell me a falsehood, I will argue your story “has more holes in it than mother’s truss”. And I will abandon the profane sailor's tongue I've grown over the years, adopting instead a scolding yet familial Potterific. Instead of lazily resorting to one of the four-letter standards, I will concoct such beloved gems as “Great St. Stephens!” and “Good gravy on the Mountaintop!” Or even “Heavenly horse manure!”, if the situation warrants such verbal excess.

And just imagine the ability to coin colorful new expressions implying fecal matter at the drop of a hat. You will no longer be full of crap, but rather of pelican pellets. Or nightingale nuggets. Or crocodile cookies. Or mouse muffins. How endearing to turn a crude expression into one that not only amuses but makes you vaguely hungry as well.

And this new world won't be limited to swearing, but could expand to the everyday mundane. From this day forth I shall never again call anyone on the phone, but instead “raise 'em on the horn”. Bathroom stops will be now known as “trips to the old governor's office” or “going on a bombing run”. No becomes “Negatori”, and yes translates to “You're darn tootin, greenhorn”! Great Neptune's Trident, there are more possibilities than fleas in a yard-full of aging bloodhounds!

At first my friends may be put off by my new Potterian persona. The first time someone asks if you're “one mule shy of a wagontrain” can throw you for a loop. But in the long run, I think they'll come around to my brand of word craft. I ask you, who can resist the adorable allure of a good barnyard aphorism? Or an ingenious turnip-based insult? No one with sense enough to appreciate the finer things in life I tell you.

So the next time you see me, be sure to ask about the weather. I'll be glad to tell you what type of animal will be raining from the sky, or how your toes will be reacting to the bite of the cold, or what the heat will be doing to your crotch. Chances are my reply will have more shine on it than a brand new penny.