When I asked my Facebook buddies about modern terminology for boy bits – for the purposes of the latest version of Losing It (yes, really!) – it caused much household mirth, as middle-aged and otherwise respectable parents called out to their offspring, ‘Hey! What do you young folk call penises these days?’ The 56 comments the request amassed included:
dick (de rigeur, apparently)
doodle (archaic, apparently, tho my sentimental favourite)
dingle dangle (I’m not making this up)
donger (not the thing you sleep in on mine sites)
luscious love muscle
doohickey (my favourite)
wing wang (my equal favourite)
transcendental signifier (For all of you who suffered Literary Theory at university. The friend who contributed this, one of the brainiest people on the planet, tried to train her young sons in irony at an early age. But even child geniuses prefer dick, it seems.)
The prize for the most creative response, however, must go to Norman Jorgensen:
A Fine Mess 002. Woody could hardly get his breath. ‘You have to come quick. There’s this guy. He’s been electrocuted. With a cattle prod. In the cattle shed. There’s smoke comi…ng from his …um.’
‘What?’ asked Terry Templar, in disbelief, ‘his bum?’
‘Ah no, his um… his …err…’ Woody pointed to his crotch. ‘His dick.’
‘His penis? What? Smoke? From his penis?’
‘No bull. In the cattle shed.’
Terry and Harry looked at each other in amazement. They had to see this. In all their years in the Ambulance Service they had never, ever, heard of anything this amazing.
Word spread round the showgrounds quicker than a loudspeaker announcement. A man with a smoking penis? Was it a new fairground attraction?
‘Whath’s a penith?’ asked Scarlet Bott. Mrs Bott clamped her hands over Scarlet’s ears.