Haught

Purveyors of fine sarcasm

Haught Take: is the rudest word “cunt”?

Other traditional insults and pointed adjectives aren’t even close: fuck, shit, motherfucking, corporal javelin. Pff. My grandma uses all of them. And she’s dead. She just shouts them from her grave as an animated skeleton.

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The Haught guide to end-of-year parties

Rule 2: Don’t dance. Dancing was invented in 1971 by Dr Hubert van de Waggelen as a cruel and unethical social experiment and was never meant to leave his dungeon/laboratory in Utrecht. It incomprehensibly caught on, spread across the world and was retro-fitted with a centuries-old (and far happier) history. By dancing you are (now knowingly) legitimising the perverted experiments of a wicked, wicked man.

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How good words turn bad

The items that we now categorise as weasel words, wank language and corporate buzzwords weren’t always the indefensible, indecipherable brain-slop of desk-shackled keyboard tappers. Almost every single one began as a word or term that didn’t make you want to chainsaw it alive and throw its corpse into an abandoned quarry.

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The Haught guide to burning career bridges

Several times I’ve approached the edge of the career abyss and thought, “Oo, that gaping void looks alluring.”

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ParentHaught: Lessons learnt from the University of Fatherhood

Parenthood is a classroom like no other, and much that you learn within it is applicable to your daily life. Like saying that an audible fart was a frog noise, for example.

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“Knocking on grass” – a podcast about shyness

You don’t hear many shy voices in the media. You don’t hear many shy voices full stop. That’s the nature of shy voices, isn’t it? They’re either quiet or formed by mouths that err on the side of staying shut… in which case they’re not voices at all. They’re sort of anti-echoes.

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Is Mondayitis real?

Is Mondayitis an actual, serious psychophysiological illness or just a throwaway malady akin to man flu and hose buttock? To find out, I asked former GP and practising psychologist Dr Egan Patiens.

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On being a strange generational hybrid

I’m generationally awry.

I have the Birth Certificate, digital literacy and firm buttocks of a Generation Y, but the basic grammatical skills, suspicion of young people, latent revolutionary zeal and ever-present fear of imminent apocalypse of a Baby Boomer.

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ParentHaught: Marilyn the Gorgon

[My daughter and I] start throwing Duplo bricks at Mum’s creepy bald doll, which is slumped in the corner of the room like a drunk auntie at a party she wasn’t invited to…

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ParentHaught: “UH-OH!”

We passed the pavilion and began to climb the hill towards our house when we all noticed a cricketer having a wizzle up against a fence of a nearby house. He wasn’t particularly well hidden – there was just a barely living clump of bush obscuring his dude – but we probably wouldn’t have noticed him had it not been for the fact he was emitting wind with gay abandon.

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