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Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Little Boys Love Their Urinators

If this blog sounds familiar, I apologize. You see, I have been warned by Google – again – that by mentioning the male anatomy, I have violated the terms of Adsense, so in a repeat (twice – because the url of the blog didn't change after I changed the title and the name of the male anatomy) of the blog I originally published on July 5, 2010, which Google demanded I delete, I am now complying once again with the Adsense rules by changing the name of the male anatomy from what it is actually called anatomically to what I hope will appeal to Google's terms – for the sake of this blog, the official name of the male anatomy is now called a urinator. Phew! That was one looooong sentence.

And now back to the original blog (with changes) for the blog which is now called, Little Boys Love Their Urinators:
Already I hear women applauding everywhere, because as everybody knows, from the time they discover their "private parts" in the earliest year of their lives, little boys can't stop playing with them and they can't stop showing them off.

I will not embarrass any one of my grandsons in this blog (I can already hear the older ones sighing relief), nor will I embarrass my own son (HUGE sigh of relief), but I have to blog about this new situation. 

Before I begin, let me explain something – having never been a boy, I can only imagine what it must feel like to find something hanging from my body that had previously been hidden inside a diaper.

Little boys LOVE their "urinators" and they LOVE what they can do with them. The love, praise, admiration, and excitement for anything "urinator" related is a genetically male birthright. From the time they first discover theirs, they flaunt it and show it to everybody they know (and to everybody they don't know).

"Look what I can do! Look what I can do!"

You will find little boys watering the lawn, spraying the entire bathroom, targeting diamond shapes on the shower curtains, and even building puddles on the rugs.

Their entire lives, beginning when they are very young, they hear the words, "Keep it in your pants."

Just this morning, one of my (nameless) grandsons was walking around holding his "urinator" as a weapon, daring to pee on anybody within spray range.

"That is your private part and you are supposed to keep it in your pants," one of my nameless children told him.

My grandson wasn't even slightly upset about the admonition, because he rolled his eyes and remarked, "It's not my pirate part" as he continued to "psssshhhhh psssshhhhh," his way around the house.

Of course, eventually, he placed his multi-tasking machine back into his pants. And, who knows, maybe when he pulls out his "pirate part" again, he'll be able to hoist a ship with it. "Ahoy, Maties! Look what I can do!"

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