Last night, in my stand up comedy writing class, I invoked the name of Buck Angel. Nobody knew who he was and I bet some of you don’t either. He’s a female-to-male transsexual porn star who has had his/her breasts removed, but his (?) vagina still remains. (Google him. I’m writing at work and he’s NSFW)
I described him like this:
Hand at forehead.
“He looks like a biker: muscular, shaved head, goatee, hairy chest. So biker, biker biker…”
I move my hand down my torso.
“Biker biker biker…”
My hand gets to my pelvis.
(high voice) “… Cooter…”
Hand at mid thigh.
“…biker biker biker.”
It got a laugh. But the teacher thought the word “cooter” was too Southern Baptist and may not read on an audience. What I find funny is that she’s a woman who finds the word “cunt” funny but not “cooter”. Comedy can be so subjective.
When I first heard “cooter” I took the word in an tussled it’s spunky hair like an errant nephew. I was in love. I started to use it whenever I could:
“Lord. That lasagna looks like a cooter!”
Or even made it my own gender:
“When I sit, I have a pain in my man-cooter.”
To the point of nonsense:
“Hey see that Gas station over there? I think we need to fill up and cooter the windscreen!”
I’m going to keep it in the bit. I can only try, right?