URBAN DICTIONARY OF THE YEAR 2069: How to give birth as a man

(USAGE of the text: click on the number to go to the GLOSSARY, click again to come back to the main text. Multiple readings are highly recommended)

A new fashion has been remarked and promoted by the mainstream media: the portable uterus for men, colloquially known as puterus[1]. They are laced with a titanium shield. The encasing is built with strong flexible nanotubes. The interior contains amniotic fluid. The puterus expands as the foetus expands. The puterus is connected to the man’s bellybutton with an organic fiber glass cord. The wireless puterus connects via Bluetooth to the man’s Pruvia[2], brain helmet or any other smart device.

Originally developed as a game by the PenIsis Corporation for for high-achieving men, the portable uteruses have gone viral since they got endorsement from the most powerful enthusiastic feminists in the nation. Why? It is a philosophical and humanistic matter. Men have thus achieved full equality on the biological level field of life. Procreation is not being fully outsourced to men, but now becomes fully integrated with the social norms of work/life/family balance.

Supperversed[3] men with high-achieving wives have gladly attached themselves to puteruses and showcased them with pride in business meetings, on golf courses, at sport events, or on the calm lakeshore of their cottages. Competty[4] manhood is the new form of procreation, dubbed by some critics as archaean and artificial. None of these critics have went viral and they got buried soon by mainstream media, that is now flooding the nation with free advertising.

Flicing[5], glossy headlines push the puteruses as the game-changing device of the 21st century, the finalization of the global emancipation of women and the glorious end of the obsolete tradition of the bi-parental family unit, that has proven time and again challenging, depressing and basically anti-evolutinary.

Take for example the lawlessness of the oldfashioned insemination procedures that required the consent and the presence of women, the 9-month agony for the natural uterus, the mood swings and appetite rollercoaster of the carrying woman, unpredictable sex drive, the ballooning of the mammary glands followed by their disappointing reduction to their original size or to a lesser ampercup[6] with a total loss of verve. Thus, little benefits for both the woman and the disenfranchised man.

Equilibrium was needed. The first puterus models had a unious[7] feature that allowed two people to be connected to the same uterus via quantum USB ports. They had a SHIPME command, to allow one of the two people to disconnect and transfer all responsabilities to the other person. This model did not prove very successful for a very simple reason. People did not like to be stuck together for too long. The model was perceived as annoying handcuffs and it only sold 1 million units, resulting in about 10000 newborn. Hundres of lawsuits were also registered between the two individuals.

The next model that came out had a bimount[8] not for two people but for one person and one artificial caring robot, that could replace the man, in case of emergencies. The undiscarded notion of responsibility was taken by the early adopters to the level of a fantastic promise: We are going to be the mothers of the future!, these proud men said and wore on their t-shirts while walking their puteruses in the park.

These brave men have preexposed the stupidity of the critics who do not understand that mankind needs to move forward towards the next level of existence, because evolution and change is inevitable in the universe.

PenIsis Corp has expanded their line of portable uteruses with a designer model that has a super olated HD screen on the exterior. The screen shows an enhanced animation of the life of the foetus with pseudocaptive infographics and fast editing so people watching do not get bored. The screen can also display colodraked[9] advertising, but not so many men want to use this feature, mainly because advertisers cannot afford the price.

How do men carry around the portable uteruses?

All models come with the standard backpack with the standard two adjustable straps. Other options include: the frontpack that has bricals[10] instead of straps, thus giving a more natural look like that of the standard pregnant woman. Then there is the ensuitz[11]-puterus that can be worn as a side-suitcase by businessmen. This model has an executive look and goes well with business jackets.

Then there is the amendable stroller on wheels that can be pushed or pulled, more spacious, dratted[12] with storage space, pockets and a rechargeable battery. This model is popular with the upper middle-class men. Then there is the klycist[13] purse: good for weekends and nights out with the guys.

There are very few reports on the actual births from portable puteruses. We managed to go undercover to such a birth and we are now able to report.

At duedate, the puterus sends a signal to the carrying man that the time is up. It never happens during the night, or office hours. It never happens before breakfast or the morning bathroom visit.

The man packs his bag and calls a self-taxi. The self-taxi drives itself within the speed limit to the pre-ordered hospital. At the hospital, the man swipes his PenIsis card. He is welcomed by the staff and guided to the reception area for advanced births. The typinger[14]-nurse takes care of the paperwork, that is completely digital. The man is comped[15] with the PenIsis mainframe. He gets a pair of averpants[16], a prectee[17] for the puterus and vitamis for his slippiness[18].

One hour later, the man is taken to the delivery room. The roof of the delivery room is a super HD screen with the patient’s favorite movies, news channels and social media applications. This keeps the man satisfied, while the risk of non-vivability of the foetus is practically null.

During this tropopause[19] that lasts for three hours, while the medical staff downloads the foetus information, the man brazes the nicest thoughts he can produce, also helped by the mushroom soup he is being fed intravenously. The man feels counived[20] with the foetus. The man becomes emotional, often cries and calls out for his significant other. This defeats the purpose of the independence and emancipation the man has signed up for, so the calls for his significant other are denied, for the benefit of the man. Men do not like to have regrets.

When the time comes, the man is put into a deep coma, under full anesthetic, while the entire operation is recorded in 3D for his future enjoyment. The etiquist[21]-doctor supervises the delivery protocols. The gynecologist posts everything on social media in real time. The part-time nurse unzips the puterus and extracts the foetus. The assistant parttime nurse applies Rescuepuré[22] cream over the newborn, washes the newborn, staples the barcode label to the newborn’s ankles and then sits down near the man to check his vitals. The man remains heavily underplanted[23] for another hour.

When the man wakes up, the entire PenIsis staff is there to congratulate him. He receives the delivery certificate, selfies are taken and the quality of the newborn is cityly[24] distributed online. After everyone leaves, the man makes the final payment, collects the newborn and leaves the hospital in a self-taxi.



[1] puterus: post-patriarchal high-tech uterus

[2] pruvia: quantum multi-potent gadget

[3] supperversed: people with high manners at supper and capable of socializing in rhymes

[4] competty: petty and competitive at the same time

[5] flicing: flowery and sweet like 3D printed cake icing

[6] ampercup: breast cupsize with variable amperage

[7] unious: unisexual and pious

[8] bimount: mechanical adapter initially invented for bisexuals

[9] colodraked: colored, shape-shifting design invented by early 21st century vocalist Drake

[10] bricals: artificial organic muscles that can be installed on the outside of the body

[11] ensuitz: portable, executive attire that can be compressed to fit a tiny box

[12] dratted: inflated, sometimes bloated, like pregnant she-rats

[13] klycist: next generation bikes that can fly like kites

[14] typinger: person highly qualified to type with their fingers

[15] comped: connected ermetically like a pump in a cylinder

[16] averpants: pants that can cause no aversion to the genitals

[17] prectee: cautionary prosthesis to prevent rectum escapes

[18] slippiness: a form of neurological slippery sleepiness

[19] tropopause: a break inspired by the Rastafarian philosophy developed at the tropics in the 20th century

[20] counived: being united comically and verified by a 3rd party

[21] etiquist: responsible with etiquette and product labeling

[22] Rescuepuré: bestselling rescue beauty cream

[23] underplanted: unconscious like a plant

[24] cityly: city-wide but excluding the slums

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URBAN DICTIONARY OF THE YEAR 2069: A fishing trip with a strange discovery

Here begins the fishing trip of Shon Schubert, a senior actuarial analyst from Eternalife Insurance Company. He has been byprobored[1] from work with a bonus, cockexcused[2] by his spouse for alone-time reasons, and beer-approved by his buddies because it’s not the playoffs. He brought homoergotic[3] equipment, all the bare necessities, and a powerful white noise apparatus with sounds of the ocean, in case the river is not loud enough to calm him down.

Agluconic[4] power bars, nakedflies repellants that quickally piss off the incoming bloodthirsty wild predators. Shon Schubert found a good glade with isolated lookout just by the stream. He parked the car way outside the forest, about three minutes walk away. He took great pleasure that he found a spot that not even his boss could have found it, with all his bossy top secret access to high resolution GPS data.

Shon Schubert placed the inflatabled[5] veranda against a gonangular[6] espalier of flat shrubberies that had climbed over a rock. Totally incurious about the profundity of the background, Shon Schubert opened the first can of licorice, emptied it and set his chair on the river so he could launch the first fish-attack. Survively he has prepared by reading the Special Air Service Survival Handbook from beginning to end. In fact, he has listened to the audiobook version on its way to here.

When the first abbrafish[7] bit, Shon knew instantly because the live assistant notified him that it might be an abbrafish based on the bait used, the fauna of the region, and the strength of the pull. Shon Schubert pulled hard on the fishing rod and helped himself with a pair of clefsters[8]. After he downloaded the fish on the ground he realized he had made a mistake. Why? It was not an abbrafish but a trout, meaning that the notifier was wrong, despite the fact that he had upgraded the maps and the software. He immediately reported the mistake through the app.

The trout struggled at first, but Shon punched it hard in the head with his fist. The trout collapsed instantly without having the time to WTF-ify the situation. However, Shon’s fist was bleating. It looked like a titure[9] from scraping a surefung[10] with bare hands. But there was no surefung around. He didn’t bring any. He didn’t see any.

Then he looked closely at the trout. The fish had a demoralized face, not because it saw the end of its days, but because it had seen something while living in the river, something that had left an impression on his facial culits[11]. Shon opened the trout with a pair of rockscissors.

Shon’s astonishment. Inside the trout: a tiny ziplock bag the size of a matchbox. Inside the ziplock bag: another smaller ziplock bag. Inside the second ziplock bag: a nano flash memory card.

“Wow,” Shon Schubert said to himself out loud which he rarely does.

Certainly, Shon has brought with him a Pruvia[12] and a Podescon[13] for a weaker signal and more battery. He dropped everything and inserted the flash card into the Podescon, preconsecrating in advance a guest user, in case the flash card had viruses on it.

The flash card was working! It had lots and lots of data and prograts[14] of all sorts: tables, pictures, references, bibliography, names, yes a lot of names, and contact information. Who were these people? What does it all mean? Shon bodyed[15] back and forth on the river bank for the rest of the afternoon scratching his head with a stick, from which he removed the bark.

At sunset he made himself a galipot[16] on a campfire, with potatoes and reculton[17] sauce, still thinking about his discovery. He heard owls, wolves (far away), hughts[18] mating, crickets and some other birds that the notifier did not recognize, but nothing that Shon had not prepared for. He built the tent, installed the perimeter electrocuters and a 400 Watt intrusion floodlight.

In the safety of the tent, Shon Schubert looked again in detail at the data on the flashcard. It was mostly in English, entirely mathematical, loosely encrypted. He quickly loaded the strobosheets[19] into a portable Excel and applied a resync filter that he had developed with a teammate. Soon enough some results came out of the doorframe: secret bank accounts, overthrow tactics to take over industries, judox[20] phantom companies to wash out the laundry that was left in the vault and some familiar names.

One of the familiar names was Andrea from work. He used to flocomize[21] her, late evenings, when nobody else could see them. They had their parapsychological connection. But to find her name now on a flashcard, inside a trout, upnorth in a river, that is not normal.

Shon Schubert thought all this was planted, and that he was being trickled down like a fool of a muchless[22] that he was. That was only his inner impression of himself. On the outside, Shon was a tough man. While he ate more saltines[23] with an interradial pattern on them, Shon made further discoveries. Andrea had some connections in Panama, under a different name. There were pictures of her with a Panamanian man. She wore a satyaloko[24], and some religious terce[25] broach on a necklace. He had never seen her dressed like that. In the background, houses from various Panamanian flectowns[26], ghazzali[27] ornaments, colored brances[28] with street numbers, street vendors and other animated activities. Andrea was obviously active in Central America, which gave Shon more reason to doubt her antineutralism that she confessed one night under the influence of alcohol.

Only after midnight, under the heavy bombardment of thoughts, Shon Schubert was able to fall asleep with white noises blasting into his earphones.



[1] to byprobe: to obtain a leave of absence from work, with pay, and without the need of a probation hearing with the manager

[2] to cockexcuse: (males only) to obtain permission not to exercise the faculties of the penis

[3] homoergotic: related to preserving the physical ego of a human

[4] agluconic: postorganic edibles

[5] inflatabled: inflatable bed that prevents night bleeding

[6] gonangular: angle at which gonorrhea cannot develop

[7] abbrafish: a very abrasive fish

[8] clefsters: titanium tool used for retrieving fish and declogging exoskeletons

[9] titure: fissure of the male tits caused by muscle rupture

[10] surefung: very hard mushroom that needs to be scraped to provide ecstasy shavings

[11] culits: fish muscles that have not been affected by botox dumped in rivers

[12] Pruvia: quantum universal gadget

[13] Podescon: quantum battery and signal amplifier

[14] prograts: any of post-software programs, apps, algorithms

[15] to body: to move the body using brain functions instead of exoskeletons

[16] galipot: edible crude turpentine obtained from the maritime pine

[17] reculton: (adj.) cult-like and spicy

[18] hught: post-Darwinian genetically modified rodent

[19] strobosheet: stroboscopic mnemonic table data

[20] judox: multinational corporation that employs oxymoronic judo tactics

[21] to flocomize: to use virtual reality for intense physical benefits

[22] muchless: a man who thinks he is a macho but in reality is less than that

[23] saltines: canned, salty, biodegradable, plastic-free sardines

[24] satyaloko: a Mexican-American accessory first invented by Siberian monks

[25] terce: (adj.) relating to the third of the seven canonical hours, no longer in liturgical use

[26] flectown: poor neighbourhood with high production of phflegm

[27] ghazzali: beautiful haut-couture developed in Ghaza

[28] brance: a sort of a house where bros come together to dance


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Gals Gods Guns – 100 very short poetic stories

Buy on Amazon

Watch on YouTube


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My new novel A SNOWSTORM IN CUBA now in paperback and ebook!


You can buy it here:





Google Play

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What is real?

What is real?

Love is real. When it’s born and when it’s stolen. Suffering when it’s inflicted and when it dissapears. Knowledge when it’s acquired. People when they are born and when they die. Words and stories that move armies, tears, laughter and tourists. Behaviors that can be remembered and that are source of inspiration. Imagination that begets music, art, literature and science that beget more imagination. Good choices and good explanations that help us give a purpose to this life. The desire to learn, to understand, to teach. The amazing insignificance of one man or one woman at the scale of the universe and the amazing significance of one man or one woman at the scale of the universe.

(from my novel in progress)

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Song of the Prairie

Where can you hide in the flat prairie
if not in the shadow of your mind
to become a she-wolf at night
that prays at the fang-fairy?

(from my novel in progress)

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Becoming Canadian…

…on April 29th, 2011 was:

•An emotional burst that made me revisit fulfilled and unfulfilled dreams.

•A recollection of my naivety and insanity that I was carrying on November 15th, 2005 when I landed in Toronto, without having any clue what I was doing. This doesn’t mean that I know what I’m doing now. The purpose of one’s life is not in the program that lays ahead but in the path left behind and the consistency that that path gives to one’s future.

•Shedding a tear or two then denying myself the luxury of exuberant joy. Not that the Romanian group was not the noisiest in the ceremony room.

•The reaffirmation that I am inasmuch Canadian as I am Romanian, that the pride comes with balance. Some of my friends think I am some sort of an outcast because I left the motherland. No, I did not leave the motherland, I left a geographical space that carried incompatible dreams with my future. I did not deny the place left behind just because I moved to another one, I simply do not accept the incompatibility.

•Introspection about what is the “Romanianhood”. What makes me attached to this cultural/ethnical designation? Language, yes. Some attachment to history, yes. Is it the learned past what defines one’s attachment to a culture? Have I become Canadian just because I learned about this country, its past, its dreams? To know is to be.

•Benchmark. List of accomplishments in my head. The job, the house, the bank account. Possessions. I looked around me at the other 28 ethnicities who were taking the oath with me and my mother. Are they richer now? Are they happier because of these new possessions?

•Sense of urgency. The need to prove Canada that it continues to deserve me. That I still need to prove more. That complacency is the last thing that I should adopt.

•Humbleness. Why me and why not the thousands who wait for this chance?

•Pride and fleeting vanity. Am I better that the thousands who wait for this chance?

•Relief and milestone. The big formal checkmark of the last 6 years.

I loudly repeated the oath in French and English.
I exchanged a few words with the judge in French. His name is Normand. He is of Métis background.
I sang the anthem in the Judge’s choir, in the middle, next to the Judge, loudly, although I was not sure of all the lyrics.

I listened to documentary called “Taking the oath” played on CBC Radio One yesterday. It said that most immigrant women prefer to stay at home. They do not involve in their community, in the public life. That they feel homesickness. That there are not enough programs for immigrants. That jobs are harder to find the more qualified you are. That the “Canadian experience” haunts like a beast. That the immigrant has to reinvent himself. That for some, in their hearts it takes 10 years to truly feel Canadian.

I say that as an immigrant you have no excuses not: to learn English, to try to learn French too (or viceversa), to use the free access (come on people!) public library (enormously rich in resources), to socialize, to meet and greet people, to take genuine interests in others, to fight for a job, to communicate, to share knowledge and be always open and willing to learn assiduously and continuously. Complacency is not an excuse. Laziness is not an excuse. Weakness is not an excuse.

Canada has not disappointed me for one simple reason. I did not expect anything of my new country. I expected a lot of myself. I still do. Disappointments rise from a context when one’s expectations are not realistically aligned with the environment.

I am a happy and content Romanian-Canadian. Awakened to a new sense of maturity and sensibility I am grateful for the journey I have lived, I am grateful for the journey to come.

Stay tuned!

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