Dear CK & KK,
Hello my lovely niece (CK) & nephew (KK). I’ve decided I need to change the blog format a little bit, while keeping true to my intentions. The problem is that life is too short to be stuck in a rut and I embrace change, as I always urge you to do. So suck it up buttercups. Change is afoot. Damn! I’m good at dishing out life lessons.
This blog was originally designed as a letter to you guys so that I could share my truly Badass wisdom with you, give you dangerous advice that will make your life more interesting and so that I could be a bad influence on you even though I don’t get to see you very often. In reality, it’s not that effective because you’re both too young to read this, but, you see – and here comes the next life lesson – this planet is all about survival of the fittest. So, while you two are resting on your laurels, filling your nappies with shit and being spoiled by your parents, other humans are reading this blog and reaping the rewards.
Hence, I need to spread the Badassery net a bit wider and respond to their needs. Luckily this Badass Auntie has broad shoulders, supported by a very thick skin and a generous willingness to corrupt more than my own flesh and blood. So, from now on, I will not only be sharing my advice with you, but with those who recklessly decide to write in to ask for my guidance.
Throughout my life, people in need of my guidance or who just want a partner in crime, have been somewhat drawn to me. Many of them were in need of serious professional help and there was not much I could do, but most were just in need of a shoulder to whine on, some painful honesty and some toilet humour to help them find their way over the challenges they were facing. It appears to be my calling in life, though not so much so that I’d be willing to become qualified. Fuck that. That would ruin everything and then require me to have ethics and responsibilities.
So, today’s blog will be the first in which I address a question sent to me by a reader, who recognises the need for some Badassery in their lives.
I love you both. Read on and learn.
I’ve always loved advice columns. The questions asked seemed at least as entertaining as the answers given. Sometimes the letters were poignant and heartbreaking. I read newspapers as a child and often would dream that if I could write to one of these newspaper ‘aunties’, I might be saved from my perceived misery. I would imagine the letters I could write and fantasise about the reader taking pity on me and answering whatever pressing need I had at the time, which, in my world, were many.
Some of those needs were real, given that I had a tumultuous and often times violent relationship with my father. I don’t need to point out that when you are 10 years old, a violent relationship with an adult man is rather one sided. Others were cries of despair about unrequited love. Having a poor relationship with one’s father can lead an adolescent, hormone ridden girl to seek love in all the wrong places. I was a very good letter writer, or, should I say, poison pen writer. I honed my articulacy on paper early on and learned to use it as a weapon. Long before people hid behind a computer to say vile things to others, I’d perfected it on torn out pieces of notebook paper, handed surreptitiously to the girls I loved to hate and hated to love in school.
Even now, I must admit an occasional, embarrassing and quite tragic seduction in the form of Dr. Phil, or, my favourite agony ‘aunt’, Dan Savage. The thing is, I don’t have any particular pressing matters in my life that I cannot wrangle in my own Badass manner, but I somehow still crave that attention from absolute strangers, who fascinate me. I once wrote to Roseanne Barr, many years ago, after reading her autobiography. I was beside myself when she replied. The weird thing is not that I find a connection with fame a thrill. I have worked with some quite famous people, whose names I know you’d recognise, throughout my life and career and I was not the star struck kind. In fact, I even used to find myself on TV from time to time as a result. Want my autograph?
I can only say that it heralds back to my childhood, when I formed fantasy relationships with people who I felt would ‘understand’ me better. Although I loved music, hung out with bands and was even in a few, I never did the groupie thing very well. I think that’s because it was far too real and usually involved having to give the drummer a blow job. I much preferred my connections of intrigue and intellect to be unobtainable. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t a fucking clue.
Anyway, that brings me full circle and so, Badass Auntie is quite chuffed to start her own Badass Agony Aunt column, right here and right now. I’m depending on the fact that there are plenty of unstable, stalker types out there, who just like when I was a wee thing, will get a thrill out of getting their letter published and answered even though they probably won’t like the response one fucking jot. You know, aside from Roseanne Barr, I never did get a response to any of the letters I sent to agony aunts, though admittedly, I haven’t tried Dan Savage yet. So, Roseanne, I salute you.
And here, I present you with what I promise is a real letter, asking for my advice. I’m an auntie. I’ve never been a parent (thank fuck) and I’m generally not the best person to leave your children alone with unless you enjoy having them prepared for life in an inimitably Badass manner which includes copious use of the term ‘fuck off and die’. But if parents want my advice, who am I to deny them? I apologise, in advance, for the poor grammar. I’m not a grammar nazi and I refuse to edit letters I receive. (Actually, I lie. One typo was just too glaring and I couldn’t bring myself to reproduce it.)
Dear Badass Auntie,
My 2, nearly 3 year old talks incessantly about his penis, usually at the most embarrassingly inappropriate times. About how big his penis is, what it’s for, chasing his brother, and what a nice penis he has. His doctor does not seem concerned. Please tell me how to stop it. I wish to remain anonymous.
ps. The other day he said ‘mom, I have such a big penis what will I use it for’
Dear anonymous mother of large, nice penised boy,
First of all, I’m writing this under the assumption that your son is not in possession of an abnormally large or beautiful penis. I can only guess that if his penis was remarkable in any way, your doctor would have mentioned this to you. I also note that because you have not one, but two sons, you must have seen no fewer than three penises in your life and are, therefore, capable of making a reasonable guess as to what is normal.
I do feel obliged to elaborate on that assumption somewhat because if it is the case that the only adult penis you have seen is the father of these two boys and that he did, quite frankly, have a glorious penis in both size and distinguishing figures, which he has passed on to his offspring, then perhaps you have a different ruler from which to compare than the rest of us.
Just in case he does have a truly enormous penis, there is, apparently, a bathroom designated for this purpose.
But, as we’re in the real world, I’m going to run with the idea that you’ve seen enough penises in your life to come to an informed opinion about your son’s penis and since you didn’t, like most mothers are wont to do, wax lyrical about your son’s unusual ‘gift’, you understand full well that his extraordinary claims about its size and dazzling charm are somewhat disproportionate. So, I applaud you, as a mother, for protecting your son from disappointment. Because, disappointed he will be when he discovers that his penis is well, just sort of, average.
Given that you read my blog, I’m going to make an educated guess that when he regales you with tales of his incredible penis, you probably giggle. You may try to stifle that giggle, but you can’t help yourself. You’re his mother. You read Badass Auntie. You find penises hilarious. Also, if you’re an avid reader, it means that you are not one of the ‘unclever’ and that you know that boys absolutely adore their penises from the first day they discover them and remain, steadfastly obsessed with them until the day they or their penis dies, whichever comes first.
So, it’s time for me to proffer my Badass Auntie wisdom to you regarding your toddler son’s unremarkable obsession with his penis and your inability not to laugh yourself silly about it. There are a few approaches you can take, depending on how much therapy you wish to pay for it later.
You could keep laughing. And by laughing, I mean hysterically. Every time you see his penis, point at it and laugh until you are choking and crying. Invite your friends round to do the same. By doing this, you will help to prepare him for the harsh realities of the world. You will probably manage to stunt his ability to procreate young – he’ll need years of therapy – and so you won’t have to deal with being a grandmother until you are conveniently too old to babysit.
You could chase him around and slap it with a ruler. That’s the sort of thing I expect that some would have done when I was a child. It won’t do any good, but he’ll help to support a dominatrix somewhere and as most dominatrixes are pretty cool people, I suppose he could do worse in life than paying to have his willy slapped.
You could run with it. Tell him that his penis is incredibly huge and that it’s so huge it’s going to do great things. Show him Donald Trump and tell him that Donald Trump, allegedly has a huge one too. Use this as an example to demonstrate that no matter who you are and how large you think your penis is, you too could be president of the most powerful country on earth. He will be disappointed eventually when he realises you lied to him, but by then, he’ll be such an arsehole, he won’t care.
Or, you could do the boring good parenting thing and tell him that sharing his penis with the world is not a good idea. His penis belongs to him and if he thinks it’s huge and beautiful, that’s fine. He can look at it and admire it as much as he wants when he’s on his own, but the rest of the time, it should stay covered up as society doesn’t appreciate looking at random penises unless they are using porn hub. In fact, if anyone except you or his doctor ask to see his penis, he needs to inform you immediately.
Do explain to him that at a certain age, you will talk to him about his penis again and help him understand what he will use it for, but the only thing he needs to worry about using it for right now is peeing. Oh, and do the rest of the world a favour. Teach him that he can, actually pee sitting down. His dick won’t touch the water. At the very least, teach him to aim properly and to clean up after himself.
Good luck with your son, his incredible penis and saving enough money for his future therapy. I also want you to know that I could do no research for this blog because using the search words ‘penis and three-year old’ would have ended up with me being hunted down by Dateline.
If you have a problem you would like Badass advice about, which is entirely unqualified and may be life damaging, please feel free to drop me a line.