Words That Make Me Pale

How would Georgia capture this?

I'm a lover of words. Ideas, concepts, visions, thoughts. An artist has his paint brush, a photographer her lens. I paint my visions with words. Like any aspiring master of his craft, I work to improve my skills. I study the works of others for what it is in their writing that evokes emotional response from me. I occasionally review my past efforts for mistakes and ways I could have better told a story or painted a picture. And of course, the artist is only as good as his tools. To that end, I'm constantly looking for new words to add the deep reds and bright blues to my canvas. Toothsome. Mussitate. Obsequious. Mmmm. Delectable.

Once in awhile I learn a word that is so powerful and terrifying in its ability to convey imagery that it bleeds the color right out of my face. I encountered just such a word this week. It is not for the faint of heart, so if you are easily nauseated, you'd best move along now. it comes to me via a good friend and occasional Humungus contributor, Phat Mexican. The word is:

Vaganus      

Hrm.  A-Hrm.  Ha-rumva.  Ha-rumvavavav. Ugh.  Sorry.  Dry heaving just writing the word.  What does it mean?  What is it's origin?  So sad you asked, but if you insist...

Phat Mexican's wife brought their second child into the world this week (Salute!  May the second be as handsome as the first.)  He picked this word up from the nurses in the obstetrics department.  It is a hybrid term born of the unholy union of the words "vagina" and "anus".  It is industry lingo for the not-dissimilar union of said orifices that sometimes occurs during childbirth.  Hrm.  Aaahr.

As a celibate bachelor, I have yet to peak behind the curtain in OZ.  I'm not privy to all the dirty little secrets women keep hidden.  I function in a world relatively isolated from any form of Woman composed of anything more than the sugar and spice of folklore.  So when I read Phat Mexican's story about his conversation with the nurses that day, and the graphic frankness of their descriptions, the fairytale glow in my dreams dimmed a little bit.  

The Humungus in me says all things end in blood and filth.  But I don't want to hear that right now.  I need comforting fables like the always-popular "girls don't fart."  All of this other stuff...I dunno.  And given that the vaganus would be at least partially my fault for planting my seed in the first place, I'd feel awfully guilty every time I saw the wife sitting on her inflatable donut while my progeny gnaws her nipples to rawhide.  I mean, how can I be responsible for inflicting such suffering on a human being I'm supposed to love? Yeesh.

Vaganus.  Hrm.