So, I was doing a little research for a freelance job I’m doing and I accidentally found myself on a smooth jazz radio station site. I know…weird, right? I was looking for something to play while riding the ridiculously slow elevator in our building. Kidding.
I was perusing the playlist for no particular reason and I came across Herbie Hancock. Remember him? Yeah. Me, too.
Only it was spelled like this: “Hanc--k.”
So I thought to myself, maybe Herbie has changed the spelling of his last name to include dashes…for artistic reasons. Perhaps he is "the artist formerly known as Hancock" or his name is now pronounced “Han(throat-clearing sound.)” So I went to his official website.
Nope. He’s the same ole Hancock.
His name got censored on that website, for f--ck's s-ke! Maybe there’s an app that automatically censors anything that contains particular words. Or maybe some dude who likes to rock out to Yanni did it himself.
Either way, I’m grateful.
See, I thought the name Hancock was a respectable one. I thought it was a name that had been around for centuries. I thought it was derived from the Dutch “hanecoc” – a type of shellfish – and was probably a metonymic occupational name for someone who gathered and sold shellfish.
OK…right…I didn’t “think” that so much as I “googled” that. But STILL. I had no idea it was obscene.
How embarrassing to have been living so close to downtown Chicago for so long. You know what building with a dirty nasty name is there?!
Well! I am going to fix this glaring oversight in my social propriety ASAP and change the word to a more PC version that I am hoping will soon be adopted into the common vernacular.
“Hey, kids! Who wants to go to the Hanpenis building?”
“Mom? Why are you calling it the Hanpenis building?”
“So as not to confuse perverted idiots who seem to sexualize things that aren’t actually sexual, sweetheart. There’s something very very wrong and twisted in their brains and we need to accommodate them lest they become needlessly offended and try to ban somebody from getting married or something.”
I have similar feelings about people who have a problem with my son having his fingernails or toenails painted as he often does. He is five. He is being five. He is not being homosexual. He is not being heterosexual. He is not being sexual in any way. He is not a sexual being. As such, nothing he does or wears should be viewed in terms of how it may relate to his sexuality…because he has none. His fingernails should only be judged by their firepower as he insists they have the ability to fire lasers when they are red or silver. If my painted-up, laser-shooting pre-kindergartner has a sexual presence in your mind, you should seek counseling before you do something to get you busted in a Nightline sting.
He also has some spiffy lavender crocs. They’re pretty. You got something to say, Freak?
Whew. Sorry. I got off on a tangent there.
Hey, listen. When I wrote “got off” just a second ago, I wasn’t referring to masturbation. I meant that my rant may have been a bit tangential.
But that’s only because I was masturbating while I was writing it.
Man, I need to have a penistail and just relax.
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