Science, SpongeBob, and the strange poetry of profanity
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There’s a SpongeBob SquarePants episode called Sailor Mouth where SpongeBob and Patrick discover “bad words” written on the back of a dumpster and decide they must be sentence enhancers. They start using them everywhere, on the street, at the Krusty Krab, until Mr. Krabs loses his mind. It’s one of my favorite pieces of television about language. Even as a cartoon joke, it nails the strange power of profanity: we all know these words are “bad,” yet they’re some of the most expressive tools in the box.
I’m a fan of profanity, in writing, and in life. Used well, it’s musical. Cathartic. Sometimes even beautiful. Used poorly, it clangs like a dropped wrench. But I’ve always found it fascinating that certain combinations of sounds can carry so much emotional voltage.
And here’s the thing, science backs it up.
Studies have shown that swearing can actually help with pain tolerance, stress relief, even social bonding. People who swore while dunking their hands in icy water lasted longer than those who didn’t. (Try that next time you stub your toe.) It’s like a pressure valve for the human condition. When the world gives you too much, sometimes you need to give it right back, four letters at a time.
Does that make me crass?
Does it offend you?
Would you still read a book that drops an occasional F-bomb?
I get it. There’s a time and place. I’m not out here yelling obscenities in the grocery store (well, not usually). Around kids, I keep it clean, unless they’re my grandkids. My daughter swears like a sailor, and I’m secretly proud of that. She’s articulate, funny, and brilliant, which to me proves the point: knowing how to swear well is just another form of fluency. It’s not ignorance, it’s control.
That’s how I think of it in fiction, too.
Profanity is seasoning. Too much, and the dish tastes cheap. Too little, and it loses its flavor. When a character swears, it should feel earned, rooted in emotion, not sprinkled for edge. I’ve written characters who rarely curse, and when they finally do, it lands like a punch. Others speak like mechanics or soldiers or vampires who’ve seen too much of the universe, and for them, clean dialogue would ring false.
Words are tools. Profanity just happens to be one of the sharper ones.
It can reveal class, culture, rage, or fear. It can show that a character’s mask has slipped, that something real has leaked through. And when used well, it can make the reader feel that same jolt of honesty.
So yes, I like my “sentence enhancers.” They remind me that language isn’t just about rules, it’s about rhythm, emotion, and release. Sometimes the truest thing a character (or a person) can say is the thing they’re not supposed to.
So, what about you?
Do a few well-placed expletives make a story feel more alive, or do they pull you right out of it? I promise I won’t be offended either way. Language is personal, half seasoning, half confession. I just happen to like a little spice.
Drop your thoughts in the comments. I’m genuinely curious where you land.