Sex In The News compiled by Dr. Bawdy

“Who the hell is Dr Bawdy,” you might ask?
Are you one of the few who don’t know who Dr. Bawdy is? After taking a moment to recover
from your embarrassment, read on.

Dr. Celestial Bawdy, DFA, PHC, BO, LSMFT, is an esteemed scientist of human behavior who
mysteriously vanished more than 150 years old, and, after a brief sojourn in the nether — sphere,
suddenly reappeared on earth to share his life’s work with archivist and historian Lawrence
Paros.

Dr. Bawdy is here to serve you—to help guide you through the shoals of ignorance surrounding
the issue of sex and enable you to better understand what's happening, sexually speaking in
today’s culture.

X Rated Politics s
Republicans like to say that “government” is a dirty word. Closer examination, however, reveals
that it’s just not the word, but the whole freaking enterprise that’s obscene.

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals when it was
checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in our capitol Washington,
D.C. that we lay our scene), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty lamps
that struggled against the darkness.

It was on that night that legislators surreptitiously crept through the back doors of the Capitol, far
from the public eye to engage in — what else? — an orgy of government spending.

In ill-lit corners of the hallowed chamber, legal suits came undone and beltway manners,
loosened as members shed their reservations, openly exposed themselves for who they truly
were. Acts of naked aggression were commonplace. People of both parties were jumping all over
one another. It was not a pretty sight.

For Democrats, the situation was all too inviting — treasury teats, firm, inviting, perky, pebbled,
and plentiful, revealed themselves, all ripe for the taking. And take to them they did, passionately
sucking on the pulsating orbs of Mother Liberty, whilst encouraging their mooching minions to
join in. Tea Party Republicans protested, “Unhand them, Sir!”

A lone Democrat from the Longhorn State stood firm. Slowly but ever-so-methodically he began
making his case, only to find the entrance to the silken love-cave, which held the treasured
cache, blocked. He would not take no for an answer. Republicans voted “no, no,” but there was
yes, yes in their eyes — those languid pools of deep blue splendor in which lovers find hints of

encouragement. Our fair warrior pressed our fair nation on, stimulating her economy in slow but
firm strokes.

A Republican maiden interjected, protesting his advance, invoking instead the guiding hand of
the invisible marketplace. Indignantly, she grabbed his entitlement, flinging it furiously it to the
floor. What do you take me for,” she cried out with indignation. “What kind of a girl do you
think I am? “

“That is how ordinary people make ends meet,” the Democrat countered, “And you, my dear, are
not above it.”

Elsewhere a throbbing (as well as pulsating and quivering) Republican member pressed his case
against the nubile young Democrat. “No cover-ups here,” he screamed, ripping her dainty bodice
from her trembling body. His hands moved downward, running through her briefs, in a blind
search for the nub of the matter.

“Stop right there, you…you… dishonorable member!” she cried out.

“Assume the position,” he demanded, not missing a beat.

“Never,” said she. Their eyes locked. Slowly he advanced on his trembling prey. His lips pursed
in anticipation as drops of warm moisture coalesced in the corners of his mouth.
Her torn outer garment at her feet, she stood before him, as her maker had created her. His eyes
darted downward, finally alighting upon her surplus. The view was riveting. The gap between
empty promises and limited finances stared out — moist and warm, yawning and inviting—
beckoning him onward. “‘Tis a void crying to be filled,” he shrieked, “And I am the man to fill
it… I will. I will. I can. I can.”

“Abort this mission, now!”” she screamed, her eyes locked on his heat seeking missile, preparing
to launch. You are in direct violation of the penal code. Have you no sense of decency, sir?”

Alas, there was no stopping him. Intoxicated by a firm mandate from the previous election, he
hammered his point home.

Politics indeed makes for strange bedfellows. In the farthest recesses of the chamber, a tiny
minority were busily engaged in a caucus — surreptitiously engaging in unnatural acts which
could only be described as “compromising,” reaching across the aisle, taking positions unknown
to polite society.

“I’ve never done it this way before,” protested one reluctant participant, his voice trembling with
fear and anticipation. “It’s a bipartisan position with which I am not at all comfortable.”

“One has to be flexible in such matters,” his counterpart argued. “There are times when you have
to put country ahead of politics, moments when you have to bend over backward to accomplish
something.”

“This is simply too weird,” protested another. “The state of the union is a state of traditional
values and uni-sexuality — not behavior becoming of animals. And when push turns to shove,
we must stand up for those beliefs.”

Amidst it all, there suddenly arose a tsunami of delight, a tidal wave of conciliation, which
suddenly swept over all — followed by a giant cosmic sneeze. Seismic tremors shook the capitol
to its very foundation; pyrotechnics exploded in midair, painting the evening sky with arrays of
streaming, streaking color. Taste buds cracked and popped, filling the air with the fresh scent of
French toast and chocolate. It was the moment of reconciliation: the Second Coming.

As fast as it had happened, it was over. Cigarettes lit up the chamber like fireflies at dusk,
celebrating their coming out, and slowly, ever so slowly, the evening wound down — a pall of
silence fell over the chamber, punctuated only by hushed whimpers and sighs.

The Speaker strode to the podium. It was time to formally bring the session to a close. ‘Twas a
solemn moment, calling for great oratory. “This is a time when each of us should reflect upon his
God-sworn duty, why we have been called to these hallowed halls. Look deep inside yourselves,
not elsewhere, for the answer. Ask not what you can do to your secretaries and your interns, but
what you can do to the country.”

A chorus of silent acquiescence nodded in assent. The gavel came down; its dull thud echoing
through the chamber.

“This orgy is hereby adjourned.” He declared.

And thus conclude the sexual congress.

Back to the streets, poorly lit by the scanty street lights, its members repaired, once more
struggling against the elements — the violent gusts of wind, the rain pelting in their face.

And that’s the way it is.

Posted on Dr. Bawdy Blog
www.BawdyLanguage.com/blog

Rape is a Rape is a Rape e
Rape continues to be in the news lately. So it’s incumbent on us to say a few words about it.

Let’s begin with a few hard facts.

"Rape" is not very user-friendly. It’s not the kind of word you use in mixed conversation or
bring home to mother. Though it is probably the most potent and incendiary of the four letter
words, it has neither appeared on a list of banned words, nor has it ever been bleeped from the
media. The Supreme Court has OK'd its use, even in a crowded theater.

It's also a rigid motherfucker — noncompliant to the whims of its user and highly inflexible in its
meaning. It doesn't give the user much wiggle room in its employment. Like Horton, the word
means what it says and says what it means.

Rape does not have any of the enterprising spirit or the freewheeling nature of, say, the word
"fuck." Now that's a word that is not only incredibly pliant and playful but one with the ability to
convey a variety of sentiments by a mere shift in intonation. Rape should only have it so good.

Fuck's Versatility:

Confusion, What the Fuck?

Despair and Resignation: Fucked again or truly fucked

Futility: Why the fuck?

Helplessness: Fucked by the fickle finger of fate

Concern: Doesn't anyone give a fuck?

Surprise: Fuck me!

Rejection: Fuck it!

Futility: Why doesn't anyone give a fuck?

The absence of meaningful action: Why are people fucking around on a topic like RAPE?

I'll take fuck any day over rape. How better to describe the current discussion about rape, than
"outfuckingrageous?"


Tit for That t
Paparazzi recently took us on a trip down Mammary Lane, photographing Kate Middleton
topless, thrusting the royal orbs into the public’s consciousness and providing us all with food for
thought.

Ever quick to seize the moment, Dr.Bawdy joined forces with the British Dietary Council and
dispatched their own photographer to the scene.

After untold hours of snooping and prying, they can now share with you, the public, the fruits
(amongst other thing) of their labors, as they revealed themselves over several meals.

As you can see, Kate’s founts of nature are nothing less than a sight to feast upon and a visual
commitment of people everywhere to a balanced diet.

Dr. Bawdy Recommends
An apple a day…Two are even better

 Ungathered apples
 Two fair apples
 Sweetly savored apples
 Twinned apples round and small
 Fair apples in their prime


A Little Birdie Told Me e
A Rhode Island woman is facing charges for allegedly training her pet cockatoo to say curse
words at her ex-husband and his girlfriend who live next door.

Lynne Taylor is set to appear in Warwick Municipal Court next week to defend herself against
allegations that she violated a city animal noise ordinance by training the bird, Willy, to swear at
her neighbors, Kathleen Melker and Craig Fontaine, according to the Boston Herald.

Melker argues that she is continuously called a “Fuckin’ whore” by the bird for up to 16 hours a
day. She said the bird’s foul language has forced her and her lover to put their $332,000 home up
for sale. We’re done,” Melker said. “We have no quality of life.”

The situation can only be described as “for the birds.” The cockatoo was only doing what birds
have always done: engaging in — fowl language. Birds and cursing have always gone together,
beginning with the Greco-Roman tradition of putting wings on the image of the phallus. —
which also gave us the bird in 19th century England as a synonym for the penis. In Italian,
“uccello” continues to have that same meaning.

Variations of flying penises can stil be found everywhere, especially on the crowded highways
and byways of America where drivers regularly flip the bird to each other raising their middle
finger in tribute to their driving ability.

Surpassing the cockatoo’s abilities is the (Southern or Wood) pecker, best known for its
repeated rhythmic thrusts. Any surprise that it has achieved a fair amount of popular usage as a
prick?

President Lyndon Johnson had a special fondness for the bird, his credo being “I never trust a
man unless I got his pecker in my pocket.” Having possession of something that important and
personal could only assure the man’s compliance. Certainly he could not stray very far under
such circumstances.

Digressing back to the matter at hand, we are left to wonder in the case of the nattering cockatoo
who has whose pecker in his pocket and who’s the real peckerhead here. Could it be the media
which has covered the case as extensively as Watergate?

Time perhaps to take wing.


Blow Me! r

Sex can take many different turns. It can be a slight turn from the norm—a mere diversion (from
the Latin di and vertere) or a complete u-turn (per) away from that which is normal, creating a
perversion ( from per and vertere). Think you’d like a spot of perving (c.1925, Australia)? Fine.
But only in moderation.

As Voltaire reminded us upon declining a second invitation to an orgy, "Once a philosopher,
twice a pervert."

We heard recently of a spot (and spoof) of the sexual other: a young man in Arkansas who has an
erotic thing about balloons. "Latex lunacy," you say. Hey, be not so quick to judge. Here's a guy
who honestly loves balloons, and you're going to puncture his fantasy? That's cold!

If you think it's all just so much hot air, you wouldn’t be wrong. There's already a subset of such
fetishists whose thing is inhaling the helium. Balloon purists, the pure cuddlers, are quick to
dismiss these folks, noting how "they simply suck."

Whatever floats your balloon. Right? The big Balloon Fetish Convention is scheduled for October 31 at
the Dirigible in Las Vegas. Feel free to float on in.


The Road More Traveled d
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.


I Swear! !
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.
Dr. CB


Pastor Has Pounding Headache e
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.

"When the flesh rebels against the spirit, asked a monk of his prior, "What do you do?" "I take my
breviary and read it through," he replied. "And I" said a sanctified frater, "jump into cold water." "For
my part, “observed a young fellow listening in, "I settle the matter at once without ceremony: I knock the
brains out of the evil one."

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.


Turning Tail a
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!

Ever have a piece of ass?

Turn it over, there’s

Pussy on the other side

— Graffiti, Brown University

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 …?


Potty Mouths to the Front t
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!


The F-Bomb b
As a public service, we delight in sharing with you the origin of the Webster-approved

" F-Bomb:"

Interesting how we call it a “bomb.” We bomb on exams, dates, and other critical moments in
our life which often culminate in either getting drunk or stoned.

When so bombed, we’re out of our mind with often devastating results.

Curiously, these are also the times when the f-bomb is most likely to be dropped. It frequently
comes out of the blue—a bombshell of sorts, a term which originally described something
unusual and sudden with unpleasant and painful results.

It’s also a “blockbuster,” delivering shattering or surprising news with real repercussions. The
original “blockbuster” was a bomb employed during WWII, touted for its ability – you guessed it
— to destroy an entire city block. Today it describes major box-office success or a revelation
from the campaign trail.

The f-bomb also often heralds the sensational and, when dropped suddenly, can leave
considerable devastation in its wake. It’s a great word, one deserving of our respect. Context and
tone is everything. Like all other words, it is meant to be used with intelligence and deftness.

Remember dear reader: obscenity, by itself, is the last refuge of the vulgar and the crutch of the
inarticulate motherfucker.

Food for Fuckin’ Thought u
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.


You Can’t Judge a Book… .

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:

Even if I were alive today and duly elected to that august body, I would choose not to have sexual
congress with that woman.
— Wilt Chamberlain:

I’ve never liked Joan, even when I saw her at court. The years, however, have not been kind to
her. She looks wan and underweight. I suggest she take up coprophagia. Hey, if it was good
enough for Bloom in Ulysses and Hitler*, it’s good enough for her. They’re meant for each
other. Neither she nor the item to be partaken are considered to be in good taste.
— Marie Antoinette:

*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.


What Does the Bulge Divulge? .
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.


How Do I Rape Thee? Let Me Name the Ways c

Congressman Scott Akin has caused a major furor with his recent comments about rape. He and
his Republican cohorts have been seeking to educate the public to types of rapes other than those
of "forcible nature." Apparently Akin has been carried away on the wings of poesy, somehow
confusing rape with "rapture," which happens to be at the roots of the word and which has also
carried him off as well.

The Akin Guide to Types of Rape

The Eyeball: "Your lips tell me, 'No-no,' but there's 'Yes, yes' in your eyes".

The Fashion Plate: "Check out your cleavage and underwear or lack of same. What message do
your clothes send?"

The Let's Catch a Bite Sometime: "You should have been smart enough to know what this
sucker was up to in the first place; if there's anyone to blame, it's you."

The Name of the Game: "Did you actually believe he'd stop at first base? Why didn't you stop
him as he rounded second and slid into third. You had to know he had his heart (sic) set on home
plate?"

The Gotcha! : "Admit it. You're setting a trap and you're the bait. Well lookee here what you
caught, and now you're bitching about it!?"

Let’s face it .
Hoping to discourage paparazzi from photographing him, shock rocker Marilyn Manson today
penned the words "Fuck You" in huge black letters across the bottom half of his face.

Alas, they photographed him anyway, pixellating the words. Unbeknownst to him, however,
some unknown punk had beaten him to the punch.

Manson was hardly the first celebrity to try this. Back in the 60’s, Abbey Hoffman did it. Before
him, the great comedian and social activist Lenny Bruce protested a court appearance on
obscenity boldly in the same manner.

For more on the subject, start fucking around with my book. Another option is a short youtube
video.

It’s essentially my chapter, “The Big F,” almost word for word as it appears In Bawdy Language
and its predecessor, The Erotic Tongue. Alas, the folks who borrowed it didn’t know how to
spell etymology. Otherwise, it’s not bad.

You also might want to check out the little known but great documentary on the word. The trailer
can be found here:

Those of you given to pirating can also download the entire movie here.…Fuck yes!


Footnote to History
As a professional historian, I have dedicated my life’s work to honoring great figures lost in the
shuffle of time —bringing to the forefront little-known people who have had a profound effect

Lawrence Paros, Authority on Dr. Bawdy

on our lives and how we see the world. Celestial Bawdy was one such personage.

One day in July 1991, I was working on the screenplay for a motion picture based on his life (To
be directed by Ang Lee or Martin Scorsese, with Brad Pitt cast as Celestial), when I heard a
pounding at my front door. I opened it to find an old disheveled figure standing before me
clutching a ream of papers. “I believe you were looking for these,” he said, handing them to me.

“Let me introduce myself,” he said. “I am Sir Celestial Bawdy.”

“How can that be?” I asked. “You’re 150 years old.”

“You’re fucking-A right,” he responded. “Agreed, this is some pretty weird shit, but suck it up
kid. I’m back and here to stay. You have been tapped to be my conduit—to continue my work;
create a platform for my ideas, and spread them far and wide. For my part, I will give you
complete access to my papers, and write a regular advice column, providing you each day with
new and insightful suggestions for humankind. You, in turn, will tweet and blog and do
whatever you people do to get the word out—whatever it takes to spread the gospel of Bawdy far
and wide through those internet tubes—to make it the universal language, teaching others how to
live, thereby elevating all of humankind in the process.”

I agreed. Our destinies are now joined. Our voices are one. That’s the way it is.

Read more

http://www.BawdyLanguage.com/blog
and

Sex In The News compiled by Dr. Bawdy

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Sex In The News compiled by Dr. Bawdy