“Well, there's you and me.
Borman drank and set the bottle on his knee and held it by the neck. Hell, Western. You aint even an asshole.
I havent progressed that far.
No.
Just a garden variety turd.
I dont know.
But not a son of a bitch.
No.
Or a prick.
Borman smiled. No. You aint a prick.
What about a fuck of some description?
I dont know. Fuck has got to have an adjective in front of it.
Like sick fuck.
Yeah. Like sick fuck. Poor fuck, dumb fuck.
You think I'm a dumb fuck?
I dont know what kind of a fuck you are.
But some kind.
Yeah.
Are you a sick fuck?
Probably. Yeah.
What's the worst thing you can be?
Borman thought about that. A piece of shit.
There aint no reprieve from that.
Total contempt.
Total.
No such thing as an apology.
Not for that.
Are you a son of a bitch?
Me? Absolutely.
No question.
No question. Goldplated with a warranty.
Is that why you're out here?
You mean did God send me out here to waste away in the swamps because I was a son of a bitch?
Yeah.
Probably.
Do you believe in God?
Hell, Bobby. Who knows.
If somebody calls somebody just a plain fuck it means just they left off the adjective?
Plain is an adjective.
Is Long John a son of a bitch?
No. He's too pathetic.
Is he a sick fuck?
Let me put it this way. If you look up sick fuck in the dictionary you'll find his picture.“
- Cormac McCarthy, ‘The Passenger’ (2022) [p. 230, 231]
