Potty mouth


“You fucking idiot!” screams Cool J at LL at the Y this morning. I am walking hand-in-hand with Baby MoFo, trailing the older boys by about 20 feet. Near the boys, I see a startled woman look this way and that (Where is the parent of this cussing FOUR YEAR OLD? she is surely thinking. Or else she is wondering how a dwarf-dad could speak to his child that way. Cool J is small for his age. I  really was once asked by a stranger, in earnest, if he was a dwarf. “He just speaks like a grown-up,” she explained. At the time it was because Cool J was talking about implementing certain modifications into his Lego structure, not swearing like a drunken frat boy). Rather than reprimand Cool J, I stoop to tell Baby MoFo something, looking directly at him and pretending he’s my only concern. Parent of the swearing psychopath? Who, me? I just have this cute little boy who holds my hand and sings songs about dinosaurs.

Afterwards, I give Cool J an earful. And then–a horrible thought flies into my head. “You’re not speaking this way at your new school like you did at your old school, are you?” I demand to know.


“Are you sure?”


“You never get in trouble for what comes out of your mouth?”

“Well . . . ”


“Well . . . a little.”

Fuck!! (–in my head, of course. I am a model parent). “You said the F-word at school?”

“No, not that, I promise!”

“What then?”

“Well . . . ”


“It’s just that I don’t think the girls like  my song.”

“What song?” Baby MoFo is still singing at the top of his lungs–

        Oh he wants to light the candles and 
        He wants to drink the wine. 
        He wants to eat the challah and 
        He wants to dine with us. 

        There's a dinosaur knocking at my door 
        Knockin' one two three 
        There's a dinosaur knocking at my door 
        He wants to have Shabbat 
        He wants to have Shabbat 
        He wants to have Shabbat with me.

Is there any chance this is the song Cool J is singing? “It’s not a bad one.”

“What do you say?”


I thought the Gangnam Style phase was over. But alas, for Cool J, the allure of bad–or even potentially bad, or borderline bad, or potentially borderline bad–language is strong. I guess, for this song anyway, it’s better that he sings the lyrics than do the motions–


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