When I was growing up we had a neighbor that swore.  Now my dad did swear some at appropriate times but never around mom or other women. His swearing was very, very limited and very mild by today's standards.

My neighbor though was an expert.

When things went wrong his cursing went on for a couple of minutes. 

The day that sticks in my mind was in July.  We were combining oats.  The combine was one of those you pull behind a tractor and the wagon was pulled along side.  My job was to level off the oats in the wagon as he combined.  I was probably between 10 and 12 at the time and my vocabulary didn't include anything beyond the 2 or 3 swear phrases of my dad.

When the combine broke the connection to the PTO we stopped and he got off the tractor.  As he stood looking at the broken shaft he started cussing.  In my adolescent lack of attention I hadn't heard exactly what was wrong and I asked him, "what?"

Without a moments hesitation he repeated the comments regarding the parentage of the part, what it could do to itself and where it should go along with a number of other comments.  My only reply, "oh."

Ah, summer.