Allow me to sing the praises of the late George Carlin, the shining knight of comedy who attacked the pillars of prudery, the redoubts of repression and the censor's castle.

OK? Thanks.

In a publication whose first principle is the First Amendment, let me honor this champion of free and unfettered speech.

OK? Great.

Finally, permit me to pay homage to the routine that brought him lasting fame -- the seven dirty words you can't say on television, including ...

What's that, dear editor? No go? I thought so. But as my grandmother used to say, the answer's always no unless you ask.

For most newspaper people, Carlin's seven words remain taboo. The closest we can come to quoting him is by transforming ourselves into comic strip characters, typing $%&#, #$%* and, of course, @^$!.

In the name of dignity, I refuse to go there. (Oops, I just did!)

When it comes to censorship, Carlin was a piker. By my rough count, there are 1,234 words that I can't print in The News & Observer. And I've lived a pretty sheltered life. No doubt there are oodles of racy terms I've yet to discover. Our editors, by contrast, seem to know every one of them; it's easier to find a parking space on Fayetteville Street than to sneak a salty expression past them, which makes me wonder: How do these seemingly mild-mannered folks spend their weekends?

My verbal handcuffs include 53 terms used to describe the human body's wondrous means of cleansing itself; 89 words commonly applied to those who have disappointed us; and 161 ways people describe the beautifully inventive ways we express our love for one another.

Like a "Newlywed Game" contestant, I am allowed to write "making whoopee," but again, dignity precludes this.

In our ever-coarsening culture, this reticence can make it hard to report the news. Just as The N&O and almost every other paper demurred from printing Carlin's seven words in his June 24 obituary, they declined to quote the "vulgar," "crude" comments Jesse Jackson recently directed toward Barack Obama. The stories were a symphony of euphemism.

This decision to protect readers from Jackson's foul phrase -- which involved locker room language about castration -- was both unsurprising and frustrating. We almost never print such language. Yet it was the crudity of his remarks that made them news. The tension between Obama and some older black leaders is well known; while supporting the presumptive Democratic nominee, Jackson has also criticized him. If he had been polite, rather than potty-mouthed, the press would have ignored him.

As a result newspapers played the big tease asking readers: Did you hear what he said? Can you believe it? Oh, you haven't? I can't tell you, but trust me it was shocking.

Exponential expletive use

This refusal seems beyond quaint considering that his remarks were widely reported on the Internet, talk radio and cable TV. As a result, readers titillated by the promise of risqué speech had to turn to other news sources for the full story. If they're like me, the incendiary phrase -- which packed as much punch as a wet firecracker -- barely provoked a yawn.

In one corner were traditional newspapers, pretending it was still 1950. In the other were new media outlets that sling profanity like confetti, condemning Jackson for using language they blithely employ.

What's going on? The answer involves the strange nature of public culture in America.

Since George Carlin and others began undermining the foundations of polite society, coarse language has gone mainstream. (I am not arguing against the 1960s -- the freedoms gained far outweigh the losses, but progress has its costs and unintended consequences).

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