Grammar D*cks and Doggie Clits

Okay, perhaps I should start by saying maybe this post is NSFW.  I have learned that on the internet NSFW means – “Not Suitable For Work”.  However, since I’ve already put both clit and d*ck in the title, it may be too late.  So, if your boss has peeked over your shoulder and fired you, I’m sorry.  But, let me just say – you were too good for that job anyway.


Now, let us begin.


Yesterday, the amazing Stacie Chadwick re-blogged one of my posts.  She is a love and one of the first people who advised me on anything – ever – here, back when no one was reading.  She said things like, “get a sidebar” and “you’re going to get freshly pressed” and “put up your stats” and she said them back when no one was saying them, a mere 60+ posts ago and I am GRATEFUL.  She also said these things with a very, “do it or don’t do it” kind of flair and I knew she was trying to help me, simply, because she liked the writing.  That is the best sort of person there is.  So, if you don’t follow her already, you should go over there and do so, once you’re done reading this post, of course.


So, after Stacie was so nice and re-blogged one of my pieces yesterday, the first and maybe the only comment was left by a guy named Larry (I’m not using his real name).  The comment said something to the effect of —


“She used it’s as a possessive in the first paragraph and I suffered a mental death after that.”


This next paragraph is in honor of Larry.  Everything in it is WRONG.


It’s sense of self was so large that the mear act of watching a baby take a step and than tumble was so gratifying to him that he told hisself, “What a stoopid baby.  It’s legs ain’t working right and yet, people aren’t visiting MY blog?  They is visiting this silly babies blog? C’mon, least this man can walk.”


Let’s fix this for Larry, straight away, shall we?


Its sense of self was so large that the mere act of watching a baby take a step and then tumble was so gratifying that he told himself, “What a stupid baby.  Its legs do not work correctly and yet, people aren’t visiting MY blog?  They’re visiting this silly baby’s blog?  Come on, at least this man can walk.”


There.  Now I feel better.  To be clear, this Sweet Mother can take a criticism and Larry was correct.  I had used the possessive when I shouldn’t have.  I usually scour my posts to edit as best I can, but sometimes I miss things.  It happens when you’re writing everyday and you don’t have an editor or intern at your side to correct things.  So, what did I do when I read such comments from Larry?  I went, right away, to the post in question and fixed it.  What annoyed me was the term “mental death”.  Really, Larry, really?  Isn’t “mental death” a bit strong?  This brings me to my next point…




Now, understand something, if I see a post riddled with grammar and spelling mistakes, I can get turned off too.  I give the person another chance because maybe they were rushed, maybe they’re new to this whole blogging thing, and I check back in with them for their next post.  If the problem continues, I simply don’t read their blog.  I simply ‘unfollow’ – what I don’t do is leave sh*tty comments.  And I definitely… (and yes, I’m aware I’ve started a sentence with “and” – twice now, in fact) I definitely would NOT leave a sh*tty comment after witnessing only one, ONE, mistake from someone who seems to be a stickler about her writing…from someone who seems to go back to her posts after reading them several times to fix whatever in the hell might be wrong.


Honestly, what in the feck is wrong with people?


It all reminded me of a specific moment in time a few years ago.  I was working on a show for the Edinburgh Arts festival.  The show was very unique and well received overall.  I called the show, “Bilingual Comedian”.  What I did was – I took a foreign language, Rosetta Stone, dvd in Spanish and I created my own version of it.  I created a slideshow – that I could manipulate with a clicker – which mocked a Rosetta Stone dvd.  There were dirty words in there in both Spanish and English projected up on to a screen, crazy/ odd scenarios that I felt should be (and never are) covered in “learn a language” dvds.  It was good.  It was interesting.  I was PROUD of that show.  It was well reviewed, most people really enjoyed it and told me so.  I worked my ass off on it.  So, much so that I was literally changing and replacing slides while I was performing the show.  For example, if I thought something didn’t work well the night before, I ran home, opened up the document, created a new slide, replaced it, etc, and then tried the new slide out that night.


During one of my “replace a slide try something else” episodes, I had inadvertently left a typo in my slide.  It was a typo, plain and simple.  But, I was tired.  When you do Edinburgh, you do your show (along with spots on other shows) 30 consecutive times in one month.  A – nice? – person pointed out the typo to me after the show.  Now, again, I can take criticism, but NOT when it’s delivered in a sh*tty way.  This is NOT how I talk to people, so I expect the same respect in return.  To me, the criticism is not what sets me off, it is HOW the criticism is delivered.  So, the guy says to me, in a sh*tty way, “that’s not how you spell, blah, blah, blah” and here was the KICKER —






Do you know how hard it is to take a criticism delivered in a sh*tty way when you are a comedian by a man who is under 4’ tall!!!!!!!  Do you have any idea the amount of restraint it takes for a comedian in this position to hold back?  It was difficult, oh, so, difficult.


This man knows how to help you and not insult you.


There were many things I wanted to say like…


Perhaps you can’t see it from your “vantage” point or the people who are tall enough to ride this ride can see it perfectly with its correct spelling or let the man who is of average height throw the first stone, you midget!!!


But, I did not say any of these things because in the end I like to think of myself as decent.  So, I did something else entirely.  I thought to myself, “These Europeans think we’re all stupid anyway, so let’s use that,” and I said:


“Nope, not a typo.  That’s how we spell the word in America.”


This answer was perfect.  It stunned him and his friends for a moment and they sort of fluttered around muttering, “No, no, that’s not how they spell it in America.  I know that’s not how they spell it in America.  Is it?  Is that how they spell it in America?  How could I not have known that?  I need to google this right away.”


I jumped in my taxi, refreshed, and rejoicing in my well served revenge.  I smiled and laughed like a wild clown the entire way home.  All’s well that ends well.  However, this post is not finished.  I need to give you – my wonderful, blog readers – one last thing.


Doggie Clits.


My Wifesy is a veterinarian.  She has a job, currently, that she took right out of school, but doesn’t quite like all that much.  The vet place where she currently works is a bit “cowboy-ish” and we’re urban gays.  Not to thumb my nose, but feck it, I’m thumbing my nose.  They won’t let Wifesy do some things that Wifesy finds important when practicing good medicine – like – CLEANING A FECKIN’ WOUND.  They don’t want her to do this because it takes too much time.  But, Wifesy, being the amazing rockstar that she is has already landed another job, in the big, GAY, city where we get to move.  So, she simply has to tough it out for a few more days.


That’s why I told my Wifesy this morning, “Stay strong and remember the doggie clits.”


The doggie clits story goes like this — Wifesy found a mass in a sweet, little, dog.  The mass was protruding out of the doggie’s vagina.  It was obvious to Wifesy that the protrusion was a mass because Wifesy is a good doctor.  But, her boss said – and they’re always doing this, jumping into a case and trying to rope it to the ground like a cowboy when that isn’t always the right answer – so, the boss says, “Dr. Wifesy, I don’t think we can remove that mass.  I think it’s maybe the dog’s clit.”  He was dead serious.


"He wanted to remove my what?! What is this sub-saharan Africa?"


To which Wifesy said, “I don’t think it’s the clit.  I think it’s a mass.  Tug on it.”


(Yes, she said, “tug on it.”)


The boss-doctor did just that and a very, very, long mass came spilling out of the doggie’s vag.


As this was happening, Wifesy said to her boss-doctor:


“With all due respect, sir, if this is the dog’s clit then this is the luckiest dog in the world.”




So, you see, world, give Wifesy and I hater-ade and we’re going to make jokes about it.  I say, bring it on because you can’t break our spirits.  Oh, no, you can’t.  Because we are the luckiest dogs in the world.  The luckiest.



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Photo credits:  Peta-nugget, the dog is mine, so hands off!