“‘Tits’ doesn’t even belong on the list! That’s such a friendly sounding word. It sounds like a nickname. ‘Hey, Tits, come here, man. Hey! Hey Tits, meet Toots. Toots, Tits. Tits, Toots.’ It sounds like a snack, doesn’t it? Yes, I know, it is a snack. But I don’t mean your sexist snack! I mean New Nabisco Tits!, and new Cheese Tits, Corn Tits, Pizza Tits, Sesame Tits, Onion Tits, Tater Tits. ‘Betcha Can’t Eat Just One!’ That’s true. I usually switch off.” – George Carlin, The Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television

Of course there are a lot of things going on in this world that confuse me, and I suspect that might be true with you as well. Much of that confusion comes from America’s new environment of interpretive truth. To be fair, that is exacerbated by our politically correct atmosphere — that which the Christian Nationalists, dullards and assholes call “woke” because they can’t cope with five extra syllables.

One of the things that confuses me, and it has for quite some time now, is the proper euphemism for breasts. Oh, c’mon. It’s not like we don’t all have them. I realize the holy-moly rounders are not allowed to say “breasts” unless they’re in a Chick-fill-A and their hunger overwhelms their religious angst. Yes, I’m looking at you, Mike Pence.

From watching television commercials these days, it is clear that the word “boobs” is the current preference. Some find the word “tits” to be rude or even outright disgusting. Whereas boobs sounds like it’s more fun than tits (which is nonsense; they are equally fun), I don’t quite get it. The Oxford Dictionary defines boob as “a foolish or stupid person” and, second, as “an embarrassing mistake.” The whole breast thing is noted further down the listing.

They also reveal that the German word “Bübbi” translates to “teat,” and that furthers my confusion. If “Bübbi” translates as “teat,” then there must be a number of pre-Bar Mitzvah German Jewish kids who snicker a lot during family reunions.

Perhaps now you can understand my confusion. To me, “boob” seems like a derogatory term. People can be boobs, but having “boobs” on your chest seems rather unfortunate. Whereas I was not raised on a farm (fun fact: there used to be a dairy farm near my childhood apartment but it was surrounded on all four sides by the north side of Chicago, proving Cubs fans are not sheep but we might be cows), tits refer to teats and without teats vegans would have much less to bitch about. Teats provide nourishment as well as comforting entertainment but, then again, like most Boomers I was bottle-fed so what do I know?

OK. So some person missing one shoe is on teevee selling deodorant that works anywhere on the human body, specifically noting the “underboobs” as a potential place of potential engagement. Underboobs? Is that respectful? Not if there’s a five year old around. If there is, that phrase is the most hilarious word the kid heard in its short memory. “Underboob” is not even in my SpellWrecker; it insists the word I’m looking for is “underboss.” Yeah, well, that might be true, but that’s not the point.

I’m not sure I get a vote. Yes, like most all male humans I, too, have tits, but this really does seem to me that it’s a women’s issue. That’s fine; after all, I don’t have underboobs. Well, at least not yet. I guess what makes it a woman’s issue is that men can go around topless, but women cannot — unless they’re in New York City. Going topless is legal in New York City because, shit, what’s good for the gander is good for the goose.

Besides, I am undecided about the effort to demystify tits. Boobs. Breasts. Whatever. It’s all Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds to me.

Sigh.

Thank you for letting me get this off my chest.

Plug time: I will be joined our own Bob Harrison at C2E2 at McCormick Place in Chicago over — you guessed it — April Fool’s Day weekend. I know I’ll be there Friday and Sunday — I believe we’ll be celebrating First Comics’ 40th anniversary on Sunday along with Joe Staton, Hilary Barta and Alex Wald and maybe even Doug Rice. Saturday, I’m planning on going to a great local restaurant and having me some delicious chicken Vesuvo which, of course, is made from chicken breasts. Or chicken tits. Boobs. Whatever; they all taste great.