Dang

Dang: (v) euphemism for the word damn 

Added into the anthology of my journey through the ridiculous and sublime is a one-hour class I was required to sit in on when I was a sophomore in high school, with the subject being, “Better Choices.”

According to the principal, there was an outbreak of bad language in the school, and he wanted to explain how frustration could be handled with much more grace, using terms that, although meaningless, were also unoffensive.

I don’t know how this man knew there was a plague of naughty talk all over the campus.

I think he was fuckin’ stupid.

But speaking of that word, three suggestions were made for when the inclination might rise up to use the word “fuck.”

  • “Fudge.”
  • “Forget it.”
  • And “feathers.”

Now, I don’t know how one was supposed to restrain the tongue from spitting the original gem, substituting the new language, but the instructor explained that if it was accomplished and sweeter sayings could be offered, then it was generally regarded among the American populous that your morality was immediately deemed honorable, and you gained at least thirty IQ points.

Shit was shoot.

Goddamn was golly.

Ass was bottom.

Bullshit was baloney.

Dick was private areas.

Pussy skipped vagina and went to lady’s parts.

And of course, damn was dang.

At the end of the session, four students were called up to do a demonstration, with the first pair using the foul words and the second pair, the more respectable lingo.

They probably could have gotten through the whole class without too much ridicule–but it was really a bad choice to do the demonstration. All the gathered students hooted and howled with the ala natural dialogue, but not nearly as much as they squalled in laughter over the dainty terms, which seemed as awkward as a Baptist family having an audience with the Pope.

Because of that forum, I have never used the word dang.

I don’t think that was the goal.

So I apologize to the educators.

Consensual

Consensual: (adj) relating to or involving consent or consensus.

For the first forty years of a man’s life, he travels with a buddy.

It is his penis, Dick.

Wang. Willy. Or any other names that have been associated with the partner.

This particular companion is not always in accordance with the man himself. He has plans of his own, desires he pursues, hobbies he likes and although only he funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
has a very small capacity for brain storage, thinks in his own lane.

This creates a problem: the man may be a complete gentleman who would never offend a woman in any way, shape or form. But the buddy–as we have called him–does not hold to that approach. Matter of fact, he thinks the gentle approach is tentative and will leave both of them unsatisfied.

So even though the man may meet a lovely woman whom he wants to ingratiate through courtesy and conversation, Mr. Excitement would like to speed things along.

For instance, he’s never quite sure what the purpose is for the second drink or a bevy of compliments. He sees no particular reason not to tell a dirty joke–just to see if there might be an open door, so to speak. The best word to describe this second part of the duo is “inappropriate.”

So although men under the age of forty try desperately to keep Mr. Inappropriate out of their general interactions with women, he pops up and speaks out.

Because of this, there probably isn’t a man alive who has not been offensive, and pushed forward too much, taking away the sanctity and the beauty of a consensual agreement.

Mr. Pants Dweller is totally sold out to the idea that every woman wants him–she just hasn’t discovered her yearning as of yet.

Fortunately, in most situations–and especially after the age of forty–the overbearing roommate mellows out a little bit,  enabling a relationship to bloom.

So do yourself a favor. Stop being defensive around women about how you “never, ever” have said anything untoward or out of bounds.

Just explain that you’re trying to train a pet monkey when to show up with the banana.

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Augment

Augment (v): to make something greater by adding to it; to increase.

dictionary with letter A

I must warn you that this particular essay may be a bit blunt and graphic.

I am not choosing this profile because I desire controversy, but rather, to explain how powerful ideas can be supplanted by mediocrity.

From time to time when I check the inbox for my emails, I am inundated by offers to “augment” my penis.

They are basically working under the concept that I am dissatisfied with the little fellow. Or maybe it’s the insecurity they wish to play off–that I fear my lover is unfulfilled with my girth or length. It could be just the classic misconception that “big is always better.”

I quickly delete these advertisements, and sure enough, after a few weeks they disappear for a season, only to once again pilfer through, trying to convince me of the dwindling possibility below my belly line.

Yet there are many things I would like to augment. My penis is not one of them.

  • I would like to augment my generosity.
  • I would like to augment my perseverance.
  • I would like to augment my discipline in eating fewer calories.
  • I would like to augment my compassion.
  • I would certainly like to augment my patience.

I could go on and on about what I wish to augment–but I never receive offers on these points of interest, only a proliferation of opportunities to extend my cartilage.

I am not a prude. But I’m also not obsessed with my own sexuality.

I want to live in a world that becomes concerned about augmenting common sense–so that I don’t have to be known by what “Jane thinks about my Dick.”

 

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