The Dancing Sausage Web Journal

Sometime while I was waiting for the train this morning the acronym “L.H.O.O.Q.” wormed into my consciousness, and I haven’t been able to get it out. It came on slowly — took me a minute to remember which letters it was that sounded out “elle a chaud au cul” (literally “she has hot in the ass”) in French, and then another few minutes to recall where it came from. I have no idea what the stimulus was that brought this on. Probably subway grafitti. Possibly the fact that I burn with the unholy fire of the end of the semester, and am conscious of the fact at all times.

Finals week seems to have brought on a gestalt of insane connectivity, and so I have spent the day trying to apply this acronym to every possible situation. I considered scrawling it on the board behind my teacher in my terrible NYU class before the final started, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it “IL a chaud au cul.”

I considered painting it on the back of a pair of underwear, but it just doesn’t seem that likely that I’ll be hanging out in my skivvies with anyone who will appreciate the full linguistic and political ramifications of L.H.O.O.Q. anytime soon.

I considered buying the domain name, but it’s been done.

But I’ve got it — I’ve finally got it. I need L.H.O.O.Q. appliqued across the ass of a pair of sweatpants. I mean, I know we all hate that particular trend, but seriously, how cool would that be?! Especially with an O right in the middle. No, I would not wear them if I went to France. But I would definitely wear them among uncultured monoglot Americans. More public than undies, yet still intimate because of the language barrier. Watch the bourgeois get epatered! w00t!