What I Wouldn't Give

I am finding "I don't give a fuck" to be a little too much a part of my vocabulary these days.  (As in, I don't give a fuck that ICE is a Federal law enforcement agency.  They're fucking Nazis. ^_^)  I don't want to be stuck in a rut, so I occasionally mix things up with  "I don't give a shit."  But this is hardly an improvement.  In Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt introduced me to an Irish variation, "I don't give a fiddler's fart."  Are you noticing a pattern?  What I need is both a lot more variety and for the sake of the children, some restraint in the subject matter.  As I also happen to need to pad out my postings for the month, I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I tried out a few alternatives here, would you?  (Go ahead and ask me if I care enough to hold on for your response.)

Without further ado, how about ...

I don't give two toots.  For extra effect, I don't give two toots in a tin can.  As in I don't give two toots in a tin can, Mister.  You are not signing up for interfaith beach volleyball.

I don't give a flying Finnegan what you do in the afternoon when I'm not here as long as you clean it up before I get home.

I don't give a Pringle or an Utz what you do on Election Day as long as it isn't vote.

I don't give the hide off a road-kill sneetch what you think of my sideburns.

I don't give a crawling thingamajig who's going to win American Idol.

I don't give a Vivian Vance who popped my dongle as long as they pop it back.

I couldn't give 2 shakes of a dollar store maraca how much I could be making if I purchased tax liens.

I don't give a wit or a whistle what the square root of 59,814,756 is.

I couldn't give an interplanetary plotz that there's another dumpling left.  

I don't give a puckered penguin what you have behind your back.

I couldn't give a belch in a windstorm who's on Fallon.  I'm going to bed. 

I wouldn't give the eye off a french fry to cure my social anxiety.

I don't give a pan fried cricket what you say,  It's cold in here!

I wouldn't give a twice read copy of last week's TV Guide to find out what happened on Happy's Place last night.

I don't give a Gen Z Conservative Fashion Victim who you think I think I am.

I don't give a gibbering id! *

I don't give a thimbleful of quinoa!

I don't give a continuous nibble! 

I don't give a good beef jerky!

I don't give a steaming bowl of bibimbap!

I don't give a frizzy whisker what Elon Musk's IQ is!

I don't give the shadow of a she-goat how you get here.  Hurry!

I don't give a hamster with a herniated hamstring what Florin said behind my back!

No Buffalo Bob, I don't give a flipped flapjack what time it is.

I don't give a yak wool thong what you do with your half of the money!

(The next four are from actual phrases encountered on the internet involving the "It's giving..." meme.)

   I couldn't give major Persona vibes.

   I couldn't give Lindsey Lohan Y2k.

   I couldn't give Zimbabweans.

   I couldn't give Ohio.

Sorry Robert Reich, I don't give a vintage pledge week tote bag what happens to the husk of what’s barely left of PBS.

~~~~~

* This and the next four entries were inspired by random purple passages from Benjamin Lorr's  The Secret Life of Groceries.