Really? On a Sunday? Nun’s farts? I ought to be ashamed of myself, stooping to such childish behavior, but, no, I’m good. Nun’s farts (pets de nonne) and spotted dick (spotted dick) aren’t what you expect. Not even close.
They’re desserts. The fancy kind. Well, maybe not the spotted dick so much, but the nun’s farts are pretty hoity-toity. Being French and all. One’s a pastry and one’s a pudding. Yes, the one’s French, but the other’s strictly English. And both are flipping hilarious. Imagine asking for one, out loud, in a restaurant. The thought reduces you to a third grader, doesn’t it? Drunk and giddy on inappropriate language.
Why is that still fun? We’re grown-ups, what’s the big thrill? We use vulgar, profane language like longshoremen, but spotted dick sends us into hysterics. Why? Well, it’s an involuntary reaction, we just dissolve in helpless mirth, giggling and hooting. There’s no explanation; we’re simply immature, that’s all. Stuck in the awkward stage — mentally.
At the mention of spotted dick, an unfortunate skin condition springs to mind with a vivid mental image. And it’s not a pudding, nor is it welcome on the dinner table. Not in polite society, anyway. Nun’s farts are plain blasphemous, flat-out wrong on so many levels. It goes against all that’s holy and sacred for a double-barreled laugh. Nuns? Flatulent? Go wash your mouth out. Fine, but shouldn’t we taste them first? They smell heavenly, mmm.
It’s not just the dessert world, either. Nature’s packed with wildly funny names. Take birds. Have you seen the American Bushtit or the Blue-Footed Booby? How about the Hairy Woodpecker? Don’t miss Clark’s Nutcracker, the Dickcissel and Woodcock. Hoohahahahahahahahahahahahahahah, stop, I can’t breathe.
I so love words.
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