My personal journey into badness started when I was about 7 years old with this incident:
Now, you might chalk up a little dirty graffiti as innocent childhood shenanigans. But you don't know me and my weird thing with swear words. I don't say them. If you go back and look at the dozens of articles I've written for Cracked, you'll only find a handful of cuss words. What you will find instead are substitutions so archaic and unnatural that I've turned down multiple offers to go back in time and write movies for the 1940s.
Okey-dokey, artichokey! Farts.
But in second grade, I was in a different state of mind. My teacher was a harda$$. She said I couldn't tie my jacket around my waist, that I had to tie it over my shoulders like some kind of baby WASP. She said I pronounced "aunt" wrong. (I didn't -- I pronounced it like white people say it.) She made me sit by her desk at all times. Oh, and I was flunking out of second grade. I can look back now, as an adult and a mom and a former teacher, and see that second grade me was overwhelmed. But when you're a little kid sitting at a little desk and the "incompletes" and "Fs" and notes home about how much you suck start piling up, it's easy to rebel. So I turned bad. Super bad.