Pendragon: Another College Story

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Another College Story

I needed some "elective" hours in college, and my degree plan said they had to be in Sociology (one of my two majors. "Hello, I have a degree in Sociology. Will that be for here or to go?"). So I signed up for a course entitled (I'm not making this shit up) "The Sociology of Sex Education."

One day when we arrived in class, we saw that the professor had put up blank posters all around the room. Well, they weren't quite blank; each poster had one word on it. One poster said, up at the top, "Breasts;" one poster said "Penis;" one poster said "Sexual Intercourse."

The professor said he was going to leave the room for ten minutes, and he wanted us to get up, go to each poster, and write all the words we could think of ... slang or otherwise ... for those terms. And then he'd come back, and we'd discuss them.

There was much giggling and tittering. I went over to the poster labeled "Vagina" and wrote my favorite word for that part of a woman's anatomy.

When our professor returned, he walked over to each poster and read (with a straight face) the words we had written, starting with the "Penis" poster. I'll never forget his stentorian intonations of "Dick ... cock ... peter ... purple-headed warrior ... mastodon of love ... rod ... love wand ... "

And then he got around to the "Vagina" poster. "Pussy ... cunt ... bearded clam ... fur burger ... snooch ... velcro love triangle ... serpent socket ... sausage wallet ... snake charmer ... Lawrence of a Labia ... bitch ditch ... pink heaven ... pudenda ... "

He stopped. "Pudenda?" He looked around the room. "Who wrote that?"

I raised my hand.

"What's pudenda?" he asked me.

"It's a term for, uh, female genitalia." (And it is. You can look it up in the dictionary. Use it the next time you play Scrabble.)

He frowned, and then nodded. His vocabulary apparently wasn't as extensive as mine. At least not in that area.

He continued reading from the poster. "Love tunnel ... Cuntzilla ... bear trap ... "

A college buddy once told me he would fight any man, anywhere, anytime. I said, "Fine. Fight me ... in Chicago ... in 1939." And I walked away.

I don't know if he ever figured out that I was kidding, but I never saw or heard from him again.

Pertaining to the Craft	Tarot	Death	True Stories	On a Personal Note
My Favorite Court Cases	Completely Irrelevant	Little Dissertations	Christians and Christianity	Pendragon's Top 1000

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