One of things that many people learn very fast at school is to swear. I was no exception. By the time I was a teenager, swearing became the official dialect through which my friends and I candidly communicated. So no matter how evil the purpose of an enemy was, I wasn't pretty much bothered by what he or she said. I had this great ability to pay them back with a much better eloquence.
There was a time when I did get flatly embarrassed. I heard a classmate call a person 'useless'. I was deeply hurt by what a third person had said to another third person. The word literally paralyzed my brains for five minutes, enough to meditate about the emotions it had provoked on me. It hurt me so much that I decided not to say this word to anyone. I couldn't let my perversity go that far. I definitely did not want to kill any soul.
Almost fifteen years passed and, although very rarely, I was exposed to environments where people 'had' to use this term to describe those they scored incompetent. I felt so offended that I politely asked them not to say the word. It was not out of an heroic act, but out of personal need.
I don't think this pseudo-traumatic experience influenced on my renewed life-purpose (to be useful), but I find it funny to see the somewhat coincidental relationship.
