Bo-Bos and Woo-Woos

Since I still can’t seem to muster enough energy to write my usual drivel and since I’ve essentially retired from storytelling but just haven’t announced it, I figured I’d throw some half-ass stuff up on my blog before just giving it up totally.

So why not post emails that after writing them I think… “Hell, that’s a little blog story novella right damn there”. So here you go. I just sent this email to a pal of mine and figured that as opposed to nothing, I’d share this version of nothing with y’all. Oh…and my personal emails are even less grammatically correct than my blog stories. So there. Even with all of my grammar and syntaxicalated shortcomings, I still write better than most of you. People. Shut up. I'm mean right now.

“Ok. You started it…the whole thing of talking about private parts and stuff. I dated a woman a few years ago who (and I totally agree with her) went absolutely spastic over the new age trend of teaching little people…3 years old and older…the exact scientific/clinical names for private parts.

Her neighbor had a little four year old girl who would come up when my friend was walking her very tall foxhound and put both hands on her little knees, (not the dog’s knees, dumbass) lean under Sophie the foxhound and ask to see her…  “buh-gina”. Maybe it’s a Southern thing—but then again not…since my gal pal was originally from Ithaca N.Y.—but there ain’t nothing cute about a tender little young’un saying words like scrotum and vulva.

Call it juvenile or backwards or stupid but the onliest thing I EVER heard my paternal grandmother say…and it was sparingly…maybe three times in my little lifetime…to characterize boy-bits was “tallywhacker” and one of those times it was when she threatened to cut my grandfather’s off. And I taught my nephews when they were little fellas…both of whom are now grown-ish young men in their twenties…one a two tours of Afghanistan Marine veteran…the other a shoe designer in NYC…to refer to theirs as a “bo-bo”. And to this day they both still refer to it as such. Can you imagine? And think about the different journeys those two bo-bos have been on thus far.  I prefer the foibles of grown men being infantile about how they refer to their thangs as opposed to little people getting an A-plus for calling their junk by the terms doctors use.  

Ok, your Georgia O’Keefe thang got me going. I think her paintings are redundant as hell and yes, they do kinda look anatomically like a woman’s “woo-woo”. Sorry to have written a half-ass treatise on weenie names. Oh and here’s a little O’Keefe trivia for you. Before Stieglitz and New Mexico, she lived in Columbia South Carolina for one year and taught at the private college for girls… Columbia College. She hated it.

Ok…time to get movin’. I bet little “meth-mouth” man just grins his ass off while y’all are calling him that…like… “whatch’yall laughin’ so hard at? I’m happier than a hog in slop…I’m fed…my bottom’s dry…and I’ve got one hand on my bo-bo”

Onward.”