This Wholesome Post is Dedicated to George Carlin

I have recently learned that due to profanity, my blog is no longer deemed acceptable by the Internet screening system used by my friend’s employer. Apparently, I have exceeded the cumulative 100-point max value for dirty words. So in the interest of not getting my filthy prose banned from anyone else’s work computer, I will be writing a little more delicately from now on. Thus, I will be substituting the following words for more questionable ones henceforth. (You may want to clip this handy guide and carry it in your wallet for convenient future reference.)

1. All references to “ayhole” and “aynus” (spelled semi-phonetically so as to not trigger the censors) will now be the more laborious but still accurate “Food Exit Portal.” Brown star is also acceptable. On occasion, I will employ rhyming techniques. Look for “nut roll” in these instances.
2. The primary male reproductive organ will from now on be referred to as “tootyacker,” “man stem,” or “aarrrrghh, matey.” One-eyed snake is more disgusting than talking vomit, so it’s out. “Sack” and “bag” are also out because they are better served as paper or cloth totebags. That said, I might sneak a “taint” in from time to time as the case may be, if my subject matter requires it.
3. Female “ahoy-hoys” will from now on be referred to as “delicate tulip” or “tough old clam,” depending on if I’m talking about me or Latoya Jackson. My darling husband campaigned for “trout flavored hatchet wound,” and although that would likely pass muster with the censors, it would leave him dangerously close to a lifetime of celibacy, so it’s out. I don’t think I even need to tell you that the words rhyming with “latch” and “punt” are barely in my vocabulary as it is, so they will not appear in pixilated form on this website. I feel that “box” would be acceptable, though I’m not fond of it, as box means “to punch” or “durable receptacle for goods.”
4. Poo will be just that. I feel that dropping the second “p” at the end softens the word better than a jug of Dulcolax. If the mood strikes, I may employ “compacted crackers,” “corn car,” or “Deuce Bigalow movie.”
5. All references to taking a dump will remain as such, or will be the more eloquent “dropping the kids off at the pool.” Past tenses of “sh*t” are acceptable, as in “shat.” Also acceptable are “Releasing the hostages,” “Painting the Throne,” and “Making a Deuce Bigalow movie.” (“Martin Lawrence” is an acceptable substitute for Deuce Bigalow.)
6. F-bombs in adverb form will be variants of “effing.”
7. Sadly, I can probably no longer say “phart.” And substituting “ph” for the “f” in words pisses me off, so I don’t even think I can bring myself to say “phart.” Thus, I may say “squeak,” “trumpet,” or “that’ll itch when it dries.”
8. Most all references to “doing it” are out. For the time being, we’ll have to go with “to couple or engage in congress,” “to eat peaches,” and “to interview candidates for a rewarding position.” Soliciting this type of experience may be reduced to “Deal? Or no deal?” Deal-oriented directives may become, “Big money, no whammies!”
9. A woman’s chest has more nicknames than anything in this galaxy, but I would rather eat a handful of thumbtacks and wax my head than use most of them. So I will use “yes, ma’ams,” as applicable.

Let’s take this new system for a test run, shall we? Great!

“That was so effed-up when we couldn’t find our car in the Disney World parking lot. Goofy parking area my food exit portal! That’s so effing lame. And it’s the last time we’ll be staying at a Ramada, those effwad aarrrrghh, mateys. Cheap-brown stars and their desiccated excuse for a continental breakfast. Little Timmy painted the throne all morning from that strip-your-lower-intestines-of-cilia buffet. He was so dehydrated we had to give him Gatorade Xtremo, which tastes like a liquid that will definitely itch when it dries. To make matters worse, you could totally hear the tourists in the next hotel room interviewing candidates for a rewarding position. We saw them later, and her yes ma’ams were obviously fake. What a coupla whammies. I don’t know. This whole vacation has been nothing but one giant Deuce Bigalow movie from start to finish. I can’t wait to get home.”

(Confession: I actually wrote this entry when the site-blocking event occurred a few weeks ago, but I didn’t like it, so I saved it for a day when my brain was the consistency of ripe compost and the best I could come up with would be supremely compacted crackers. See, I’m really a squirrel, storing away blog posts for days when my work schedule prohibits any thinking that doesn’t involve the words “positive outlets for high-risk energy.” But you know, this post is still a Martin Lawrence movie from start to finish. Sorry. Maybe Wednesday I’ll tell you about how I gleeked on someone by accident at a meeting today.)