Stamped: October 2nd, 2006 | Toggle Similar
Tagged: bonbons are good, food, internet stuff, just plain stupid.

I stumbled upon this post the other day and couldn't help but giggle. Well, I actually laughed quite loud, showed the post to my boyfriend (who rolled his eyes) and then started to ponder this situation more seriously.

I mean, seriously? PIZZLE? As in, fo' shizzle?

Not one to rely on someone else's definitions, I resorted to trusty Ms. Merriam Webster. Even she was only bold enough to use the acutal word–PENIS–once. The second time, they fell prey to the classic fault of using the word to define itself. Fucking pansies.

I mean, us women have reached a point where we can finally act out our every last sexual desire without feeling slutty (well, I suppose there is a limit of sorts…). And, of course the men in the world have been man-whoring for centuries without batting an eyelash. So what's the deal here? Is this like the cause-and-effect logic that I hardly, but vaguely, remember from my college days? My professor was about 9 feet tall with a banana-shaped spinal column, but I'm pretty sure he was still living and teaching that semester. But I digress…

I just think we've reached a point of no return when we start referring to steer's dicks as pizzles. Think about it. That steer is trotting his way around the pasture with his monstrous ballsack swinging like a pendulum all the way. If there is an animal more proud of his balls, I don't know what it is. Look, even this squirrel is happy. He sure as fuck is not going to lose his confidence when it comes time to referring to his member. And, even if there were a baby squirrel in the vacinity or his mom was in the next room, do you honestly think he'd get all Snoop Dogg on us and refer to his dick as a pizzle? Or how about the men folk that attach those metal balls to the back of their pickup trucks? Can you imagine Earl from Tennessee referring to his manhood as anything other than "My Manhood", you know, with capital letters and everything?

Maybe I'm missing the fact that this particular penis–the steer penis in the form of a dog chew toy–has changed form so dramatically. Maybe this was the steer's last wish before they lopped it off. Some people deal with loss by making things humorous, more bearable. I remember my dad refused to take our family dog to the vet for his routine castration. Though, Bailey still gets the red rocket and we certainly do not refer to this phenomenon as anything other than, "Get off my fucking pillow, asshole!"

Last 5 posts by Jenna

• peace out, my lovlies - June 8th, 2007
• bringing sexy back - May 28th, 2007
• I'm no James Woods - May 21st, 2007
• fellow commuters: grunt! - May 14th, 2007
• No, no I don't. - May 7th, 2007