“God damn it!” he shouted. Just like he shouted about every
5 minutes or so.
It was one of those things you got used to hanging out in
the pine cone filled floor bar and grill we loved so much down the street from
the paper.
“For a God-fearing man,” Eugene, the 28-year-old virginal
copy editor, said between swigs of Old Milwaukee, “you sure as hell say God
Damn it a lot.”
The old man stared at Eugene. He wanted to pound his face
into the pine cones, it was obvious. But he knew it was pointless.
“And what exactly is AP style for God Damn it?” I asked to
try and break the stupidly started tension in the room. Hell, this was my
favorite place to be other than in bed with my girlfriend on a Sunday morning
over-sleeping and not even thinking of going to church. I walked over to the
makeshift chalkboard beer menu, erasing “Today’s Special: Bud Lime’s $1.33
each!!!” and scribbled while talking:
“Is it God Damn it? Or maybe Goddamn it? Could it still be
Goddamn it? Or lastly, God dammit?”
