Bawdy Language

In a recent interview with The Huffington Post's Jen Bendery, the President of Morality in the Media and former anti-porn prosecutor, Patrick Truemen, claimed that the young men of America are "having their brain maps radically altered" by masturbating to pornography on the internet.

This remapping has caused them to lose their bearings and no longer be interested in normal sex.

It's a major problem, long ignored by both cartographers and AAA. We join him in calling for a summit of all the key players, including Mapquest, Garmin and other major GPS manufacturers to plan a new national strategy to reset the brain maps of our country’s young males.

The road to a man's heart is through his penis, but to properly tread that path, he needs to be shown the way. It’s a matter of “recalculating” — charting a straighter path for him, putting him back once more on the road to salvation, away from the dead-end streets of internet porn, escorts, and the excesses of Craig's List.

He needs to be detoured from the back alleys filled with large throbbing penises, yawning and inviting vaginas and sexual acrobatics. Place him back once more on the straight and narrow highways and byways of everyday sex, marked by a comforting numbness, doing it by the numbers in the missionary position, to the refrain of "not tonight, dear, I just had my hair done" or "I have a headache."

It should not be difficult. If we could put a man on the moon, we can certainly put the youth of America back once more on the proper path.

Thanks to Google Earth, we have taken the first giant step — a comprehensive mapping of vaginas round the world. All that remains is plotting the proper path to them. Republican evangelicals have offered the one and only route. The only question is whether it’s the road the rest of us want to go down.

Holy shit! Has this become a country of privilege or what! This business of paying extra for what was once a basic right has gone too far. You go to the ballpark to find that not only is seating arranged according to price but it also varies from game to game based on the attractiveness of the opponent.

Other perks are also available but only to the privileged: luxury boxes, preferential parking, licensed seating, and access to a better and wider selection of food. At SeaWorld, the general admission gets you through the door, and little else. Whether its lunch with Shamu or taking in the attractions which compelled you to make the trek in the first place, everything worth seeing and doing costs extra.

Now you have to pay extra for the right to swear. It used to be that you could curse in a large number of contexts where people were comfortable with colorful language. Alas, there’s been a clampdown in the workplace and even bars and restaurants, and traditional watering-holes, once sympathetic or tolerant of the practice are now off-limits to salty language.

Newspapers are obsessed with being “family friendly.” Radio and TV are similar wastelands, offering little hope to the verbally prurient.

If you’re looking for four letter words, you won’t find them on basic radio or network TV. You instead have to pay extra for them by subscribing to satellite radio or premium cable. Oh #$%*@!!.

And it doesn’t end there. It was recently announced that a German firm called “Schimpf-los” (“swear away,” in German) has decided to join the gold rush. It offers a service which has operators standing by seven days a week for frustrated individuals to jeer, swear, and curse to their heart’s content, using whatever unsavory language they desire.

You can almost guess what’s next—charging a different tariff depending on the radioactive content of the words. It can’t be long before “fuck” and “cunt” carry a premium price; while “ass” and “tits” are a mere pittance. Stay tuned.

The New Orleans Times Picayune recently reported that Reverend Grant Storms, an avowed anti-gay activist, had been arrested on "Obscenity of public masturbation.".

Following his arrest, Storms admitted to having watched pornography that day and putting his hands in his pants. "I apologize deeply for my inappropriate, sinful actions," he said tearfully, describing himself as "disoriented and confused."

Confusing actions such as Storms' are hardly isolated occurrences. They are a part of an extended historic struggle on the part of Church to come to grips with masturbation. It is a conflict which reaches back to the days of the friars of Merrie Olde England.

Clearly, the last approach — the old one-two punch — was the same one favored by Reverend Storms. Alas, it doesn't bode well for his future. After his congregants have learned what has happened, the only thing Storms will be publicly pounding will probably be the pavement.

Dr. C.B.

It's always a privilege to post news about books my fans might enjoy. One such read is by Geoffrey Nunberg, the learned and urbane linguist, entitled: Assholism, the First Sixty Years (Perseus/Public Affairs, 249 pages, $25.99) (Perseus/Public Affairs, 249 pages, $25.99).

In it he beautifully details the rise of the word asshole from the ranks (literally, from soldiers in the Second World War) into mainstream language and how its prevalence reflects salient social and moral aspects of our culture. We join with him in celebrating here the ascent of "asshole."

It's time the American male recognizes how it has also served as a major source of confusion and misdirection for him. For too long, he has chased tail with ardor and passion, often mistaking it for his primary goal of pussy — even settling for partial satisfaction with a piece of ass. What assholes they be!

So fellow assholes; get a move on to your local bookstore and buy this unique treatise.

Don't like being called an asshole? Nothing personal, it's just one person's opinion. As Dirty Harry Callahan, a/k/a Clint Eastwood, noted in The Dead Pool (1988). "Opinions are like assholes; everybody has one."

Make sure, however, that you are fully certifiable. Take the Asshole Rating Self-Exam (ARSE). It’s 24 questions long, but well worth the effort: Asshole Rating Self-Exam (ARSE) — Are You A Certified Asshole …?

Following the lead of a school in England, an Indiana high school is offering lessons in cursing, trying to teach students what not to say by having them write it down first and then talk about it.

Kids were encouraged to say the words aloud and explain to their classmates how they are offensive.

School officials say the unusual lesson is a means of allowing teachers to gain some measure of control over what comes out of their students’ mouths, and they claim it has had some effect when used in the past.

For their valiant efforts, we say, "Bravo!" It may be only a small first step away from potty-mouth, but it's a giant leap forward towards respectability for Bawdy Language, making it only a matter of time before it becomes a formal part of the curriculum — right up there with French, Spanish, German, and Mandarin.

So a tip of the hat to the forward looking and progressive educators of Indianapolis for helping take Bawdy out of the back alleys and the barrooms, raising its decibel level above hushed whispers and elevating it to a position as a proper subject of study. It doesn’t get much bette than that. Truly specfuckintacular!

I just wanted to share this morsel with you: a creative and funny use of the most versatile word in the language. Everyone should give a fuck about this post, especially those with an appetite for such matters.

Make sure, however, that when you get there, you sing for your supper.

Begin with a call to the meal and some healthy veggies: "I been looking for your ass since a quarter past/hot peas and butter, baby come and get your supper/Before I make you suffer." — Keep on Keepin’ On by MC

"My heart is like an artichoke/I eat petals myself one by one/Until I feel enough/Until I lose to laugh/Can you peel my petals one by one?/Your hands are like a rusty knife/Are you gonna keep on peeling me?" — "Artichoke", Cibo Matto

Sample the forbidden fruit: "Movin’ to the country gonna eat a lot of peaches/I’m movin’ to the country/I’m gonna eat me a lot of peaches/I’m movin’ to the country/I‘m gonna eat a lot of peaches/Movin’ to the country/I’m gonna eat a lot of peaches/Peaches come from a can they were put there by a man/In a factory downtown/If I had my little way I’d eat peaches everyday/Sun soakin’ bulges in the shade." — "Peaches", Presidents of the United States of America

Add a spot of tea to wash it all down, with some lemon of course: "Squeeze me, babe, till the juice runs down my leg/Do, squeeze, squeeze me, baby, until the juice runs down my leg/The way you squeeze my lemon/I’m gonna fall right outta bed." — "The Lemon Song", Led Zeppelin

Or better yet a shake: "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard/And they’re like/It’s better than yours/Damn right it’s better than yours/I can teach you/But I have to charge." — "Milkshake", Kelis

But what’s a meal without one’s just deserts? Start with a request from Nina Simone: "I want a little sugar/in my bowl/I want a little sweetness/down in my soul/." — "I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl", Nina Simone

Then on to the desserts themselves: "I’ve been out there/Tried a little bit of everything/But it’s all sex without love/I found the real thing is poundcake/Homegrown and down-home, yeah that’s the one/Still cookin’ with that old time, long lost recipe, yeah/Woo!/She’s down-home and down-home/Oh, that’s my woman." — "Pound Cake", Van Halen

It’s all so easy to prepare: "She wanted me to feed her/So I mixed up the batter/And she licked the beater/I scream you scream/We all scream for her/Don’t even try ’cause/You can’t ignore her/She’s my cherry pie ." — "Cherry Pie", Warrant

Next tothe lavish spread itself: "Créme tangerine and Montélimar/A ginger sling with a pineapple heart/A coffee dessert–yes you know it’s good news/But you’ll have to have them all pulled out/After the Savoy truffle/Cool cherry cream, nice apple tart/I feel your taste all the time we’re apart/Coconut fudge really blows down those blues/But you’ll have to have them all pulled out/After the Savoy truffle." — "Savoy Truffle", The Beatles

And top it all with you know what: "Clickin’ by your house about two forty-five/With a sidewalk sundae strawberry surprise/I got a cherry popsicle right on time/A big stick, momma, that’ll blow your mind/’Cause I’m your ice cream man/I’m a one-man band (yeah)/I’m your ice cream man, honey/I’ll be good to you." — "Ice Cream Man", Tom Waits… Bon aperitif, and thanks to the frisky.com for the research.

Joan Rivers was arrested today after having chained herself to a shopping cart at Costco in protest for not carrying her book with “inappropriate” wording on the back cover.

Interestingly, all the major media reported the story, but none ever got around to telling its readers exactly what on that back cover was so offensive as to cause Costco to ban the entire book. Well, when all else fails, you know you can always get the straight fucking poop here. So here’s the poop on the book. Drum rolls please:

There were two blurbs which were deemed particularly incendiary: "Wilt Chamberlain: 'Even if I were alive I wouldn't fuck her.'" And “Marie Antoinette: 'I don’t like her. Let her eat shit.'"

As every athletic supporter knows, Wilt Chamberlain (August 21, 1936 — October 12, 1999) is a Hall-of-Fame NBA player. He is famous for scoring 100 points in a single game, and infamous for scoring with women. His autobiography calculated that he’d slept with over 20,000 women, noting how "the point of using the number was to show that sex was a great part of my life as basketball was."

Clearly, the man never saw a pussy he didn’t like — until Joan’s.

As for French princess Marie Antoinette, she allegedly responded to her starving citizens' plea for bread with: "Let them eat cake." Actually it was brioche, also enriched with butter and eggs, as opposed to ordinary bread, thus underscoring the princess's obliviousness to the condition of her people and inciting the French Revolution and Marie's beheading.

Though there's a striking resemblance between the Joan and Marie (apart from a face-lift or two), and being about the same age, little is known about their relationship. The comment telling Joan to "eat shit" is, however, not at all au courant with the standard diet of the people of France (Fact-Check).

To assist book lovers everywhere and help expedite a peaceful settlement between Joan and Costco, we have rewritten the back cover in more genteel terms, hoping that Costco will reconsider its ill thought-out decision:

*To learn more about the coprophagic diet, turn to Bawdy Language (Book of the Toilette: Falling Behind). Warning: This is an unabashed plug for the book.

Dr. CB

Henrik Runnel's moment in the sun, receiving a medal at the Olympics for rowing, was momentarily upended when his penis became erect during the award ceremonies. "Is that a medal in your pants or are you just happy to be receiving one?" an unnamed Olympics official queried? .

Henrik's rigorously denied the erection, though pictures proved to the contrary. Intrepid reporter that we are, we went directly to the source for an exclusive interview with his penis.

Dr. C.B.: Great to have you hear. Glad you could make it.
Penis: My pleasure. May I say hi to my Mom? …Hi Mom!

Dr. C.B.: Let’s get right to the point. Were you or were you not erect during the presentation?
Penis: Well, sort of…

Dr. C. B.: What do you mean sort of? Either you were or you weren’t.
Penis: Not true. There are varying degrees of tumescence.

Dr. C.B.: Where would you put it on a scale of 1-10?
Penis: An 8, somewhere between an adequate woodie and a profound steelie.

Dr. C.B.: And to what do you attribute its woody-steelyness?
Penis: There’s a natural urge to get up and out to join in the excitement, you know? Be part of the larger scene. And with everyone else coming to attention, I felt I should as well. It was after all a matter of great national pride. You know I have feelings too.

Dr. C.B.: How do you feel about your man denying that it happened. He is on record swearing you weren’t really erect, and that if you had been, he would have covered you with his flowers.
Penis: He’s in denial. Flowers would have been the ultimate insult. Having an erection is not a fucking funeral. I am his manhood and he should stand by me as I stand by him.

Dr. C.B.: And what do you make of his blaming it on the spandex?
Penis: Spandex, schmandex. Man, agreed it’s the pits down there, dark, snug, hot, and uncomfortable tucked away so tightly you can’t even move. There is a natural inclination to expand one’s presence, but you can only stretch the spandex argument so far. We’re both responsible for what happened and he more than I. Though I occasionally have a mind of my own, he’s got to take some of the responsibility.

Dr. C.B.: Do you have any personal dreams or aspirations you’d care to share with our readers?
Penis: I dreamt that one day I’d have my own day in the sun, standing on the podium alone at full attention with the gold draped around my neck, Henrik by my side smiling his approval and later embracing me, the crowd going mad, expressing its affection and approval of us both.

Dr. C.B.: What’s next in your life?
Penis: I’ve got a scheduled visit on the View, an interview with Letterman, a trip to Disneyland, and a bikini wax.

Dr. C.B.: Busy, busy, busy….Any regrets?
Penis: I hope that next time, that I can play an active part at a larger coming-out party. It’s pretty tough slumbering in the obscurity of the crotch, called on only when the things get heavy. Try it sometime, and you’ll know what I mean.

Dr. C.B.: Thank you for taking the time to visit with us. I really appreciate your candor. If I may say it, you’re a real stand-up kind of guy!
Penis: Thank you. See you around.