Cream One’s Jeans

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cream one’s jeans: (v) to experience emission of a small amount of semen 

I was twenty-five years old and just smart enough that I seemed like a genius among my peers.

It is a very dangerous supposition—because possessing premature gravitas does not mean you have adequate “salt and pepper” in your philosophy. But my friends—and their friends—trusted me explicitly.

So when a young woman came to me for counseling, I was more than willing to help her through her hour of need. She was very attractive—but I felt that I was mature enough to handle it in a clinical fashion, and would not allow my animal to slink out of the jungle.

It went along pretty well. Unfortunately, the problems she was experiencing were of a sexual nature, with her fiancé. She was very willing to be honest—dare I say, even blatant. I tried not to become emotionally involved in her situation, but she was so doggone pretty that I found myself siding with her rather than actually helping her find the key to her solution.

I thought I was doing more good than harm until after the third session—for when she left, I went into the bathroom, pulled down my underwear to urinate, and there it was: a little deposit of fresh cream in my shorts from my body’s excitement.

I felt stupid.

Aside from being a little bit yucky, it was a piece of evidence which could not be denied. It proved that my mind was moving sexually instead of heavenly.

I was so pissed.

I continued a few more sessions but at the end of each one I found the same surprise. Yes—I was creaming my jeans over a young woman I was supposed to be enriching.

She didn’t know, and she would never know unless I told her or tried to act out my body’s wishes.

At this point I had to decide whether I was just clever or really caring. There is a major difference. People who are just clever don’t really care if it hurts anyone or not, and people who are really caring sometimes have to walk away from their need to appear clever so as to actually be caring.

I explained to the young lady that I was going to send her off to someone who was more suited to her problem, and that she could counsel her better in these matters than I. The young woman was disappointed, but not crestfallen. After all, she was there for help…not foreplay.

I learned that day the difference between just loving yourself and really loving your neighbor just as much.

 

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Copulate

Copulate: (v) to engage in sexual intercourse.

“Making love” may be the safest term.

When referring to sexual interaction, trying to find a dainty way of describing the explosion of lust that occurs, turning normally rational human beings into grunting and groaning grizzly bears, has left the human race devoid of a good term.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Most people will be honest and admit that the actual process of intercourse is not “making love.” Love may precede it and sometimes even follow it. But human sexual response is very similar to getting your back scratched—it feels so good at the one place that its being done that the rest of your back starts screaming for similar attention.

It is animalistic. This is not a slam on the action or the meaningfulness of it because I have nothing personally against animals.

So if I get in a particularly clinical mode, when I am around adults who have an understanding of the English language, and I’m trying to be careful about how I’m phrasing it, I will occasionally say that the two people are “going to copulate.”

I don’t do it very often because it’s pretentious.

Actually the word is kind of silly. It sounds like an accusation a man might make to a woman after intercourse, when she is unable to achieve orgasm:

“Cop-you-late!”

But setting that aside, let us realize that some human actions are better to participate in and enjoy, minus a whole bunch of uncomfortable discussions.


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Battalion

Battalion: (n) a large body of troops ready for battleDictionary B

Every once in a while I think about my own death.

It makes me cry.

You know why? I start thinking about all the people I know and how devastated they will be with my absence.

It’s very silly.

But you see, the only life that completely matters in my thinking is mine.

I try to be equally as concerned about others. Sometimes I muster some real mourning for their well-being, but nothing on the level of the compassion and care I have for myself.

I suppose I should feel bad about that–but since it’s not going away, and I am certainly not alone, I will choose to guide it by understanding the value of all human life.

When I was sixteen years old, hundreds of young American men were dying in Vietnam every week. We had a death toll number. It wasn’t like the numbers tallied nowadays over mass shootings, earthquakes or explosions. Many of these young fellows had just been in our classrooms, churches and bagging groceries in our supermarkets three months earlier, and now they were returning home draped in flags.

It seemed surreal but became our reality.

We were experiencing battalions of young American males going off to fight in a jungle and coming home dead.

There was a sensitivity that swept the young generation.

It was reflected in the music.

It was being released from our pores as we stood side-by-side, wondering what in the hell could all this mean.

So gradually, we joined together and became battalions of protestors. We went off to a different kind of war. It was a war waged against war, because the war being executed was killing us.

We had a greater awareness. We asked questions like, “Where have all the flowers gone?”–waiting for an intelligent answer.

Nowadays we speak of war in a clinical Ethernet third person. It is something we launch rather than something that strikes back at us, filling up coffins and alarming us to its viciousness.

We have a professional army with people who have made a profession out of arming themselves and going off to wars that have been created by old men who miss John Wayne.

Nowadays our grocery baggers get to go to college without ever feeling the loss of life.

I would not wish the agony of Vietnam and the deaths of friends and loved ones on anyone, but it would be terrific to have battalions of young people who are socially, spiritually and emotionally conscious of our aching world … instead of battalions of soldiers chasing the errors of misguided politicians.

 

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

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