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Wednesday, September 28, 2011

A Truly Shameless Blog

  Before the vulgarity and body humor commence, I feel the need to announce that my mother claims to have purchased an android. If my mother has truly purchased an android, then I expect to have an artificial manservant at my disposal ready to perform my calculations and do my bidding. One that performs like Mr Data from Star Trek will do just fine, but I digress.

My great American forebears did not have bodily functions. The virtuous lady Puritans did not menstruate or go 'on the rag, ' but rather they had a "period." Similarly, their wholesome male descendants (it goes without saying not the women) did not have use for toilets, but instead bathed constantly by going "to the bathroom." Cleanliness in next to Godliness. To this day, our grandparent's dogs merely water the bushes or "make dirt." Americans don't have intestines or orifices, and neither does our culture have a tradition of bodily decay or mortality. Our European heritage at first led us to refer to the largest of rooms in good sized houses as the "funeral parlor," but soon we learned that dealing with our loved ones in their final respite is a task best left to strangers, so we converted our more spacious rooms into "living" rooms. In summary, we live forever now, and American women do not have bowel movements or flatulence. If they do, it is, thankfully, a well kept secret.

Since were on this most mundane and earthy of tangents, I need to relate some confusion I experienced lately. Recently, someone told me she had to go to the gynecologist, so that the gynecologist could perform a rectal examination. Vagina is a nice place that I have visited many times, but as it is shrouded in  feminine mystery, I still opt not to live there. This latest of revelations that the v-j doctor is probing other ports of exit in the nether regions is only further confusing my mental map of that neighborhood. What is the vagina doctor doing with your butt?

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