&%#!!, is this thing on?

Know what, kids? Swearing is fun! Sure it is. And everyone does it - even well-groomed, powerful members of the G8.

Swearing makes you feel bad, in a GOOD way.

So don't hold back, kids. Let that profanity rip.

Teasing the S-bomb-dropping President aside, I do love a good curse word.

Don't worry - I won't use any of my favorites here in this family publication. I do possess a smidgeon of restraint. But, as anyone who knows me can verify, just a smidgeon.

Swearing IS fun, though, isn't it? When you find just the right gem of a word, and place it in just the perfect position to punctuate an emotion or emphasize an assertion or wake up your listener, nothing is more bleepity heavenly. It's the linguistic equivalent of one of those artisanal chocolate candies that was individually handmade by loving chocolatiers from well-protected Old World recipes.

It's a special treat for the tongue and it tingles as it rolls like a sizzling marble between the teeth and into its target's waiting ear.

And just as you wouldn't want to glut yourself on those tiny chocolates laced with violet petals and lavender ganache, you'll find that profanity holds its flavor best when it is used sparingly. You can only drop the F-bomb so many times before it stops being a bomb and starts looking like a little kid's spitball.

I do not, for instance, allow my children to swear. Like good wine or a bad first marriage, cursing the occasional blue streak is something that only grown-ups get to enjoy.

Remember when people didn't curse on TV - not even on basic cable? In order to hear people use dirty swears, you had to lay out the big bucks for premium cable channels. Now, you can hear words I hope my grandmother doesn't even know exist just by turning on the tube at three in the afternoon and tuning in to broadcast channels.

The problem is, with overuse, those words lose all their meat and become thin shadows of themselves. And they have a tendency to erode your powers of diplomacy.

The first time I used relatively strong language with my teenaged son, he took notice, and did indeed get off his, um, heinder and take the trash to the curb. The next time I used it, he barely took the time to look at me with unimpressed eyes that asked, "Is that all you got?"

Now I've resorted to swearing at him in other languages because that maintains the novelty AND it's educational.

To this day, the most deliciously potent swear word I ever uttered was the first one I uttered in front of a parent.

I was 12 or 13, cooking an omelet at the stove in my parents' kitchen when I accidentally touched the side of the pan with my wrist.

The word erupted out of my mouth like a bat from a cave at dusk. It wasn't even a particularly bad word, especially by today's standards.

Most 21st-century middle school teachers would grin in spite of themselves at the quaint antiquity of the word I used. As the word flew past my lips, I realized with sheer horror that my father was standing in the den behind me, perfectly capable of hearing the vile syllable I had spewed.

I froze.

I did not turn around.

I waited for the hammer to fall. And as frightened as I was, part of me was so intoxicated by my own cursing that I didn't even care how much trouble befell me.

Maybe that's how it feels to be President and let a choice swear between world leaders slip into an open microphone.

Maybe it makes you feel so drunk with power you don't feel the sting on your wrist or sense the disappointed faces behind your back or care how much trouble you're courting.

Elizabeth Trever Buchinger is a freelance writer who kisses her kids with that mouth. She can be reached at VillageWordsmith@hughes.net.