It’s short for “a bag of dicks” and it’s usually preceded by the words “go eat”. It’s applications are nearly as versatile as the word “fuck”, but that’s not what prompts this post.

I’ve become increasingly amused by the appropriation of the “D”.

The other day, I walked into one of my locals and was asked the usual question-with-an-obvious-answer upon finding a place to squat at the bar. Instead of giving the <ahem> straight answer, I deployed a little bit of my usual Xtopher fuckery.

“Just thought I’d come in to try and get a little D”.

Bartender: <glances around uncertainly> You know we’re not that kind of bar, right?

Me: You’re a hotel bar. You’re exactly that kind of bar.

At this point, the bartender gives me a look that strongly suggests one of us has been misinterpreting what they’ve observed in the environment over the years. I can tell he’s also slightly uncertain as to whether I have previously unshared first-hand knowledge on the topic (I do) to which he thinks I’m alluding. I know he’s told me that he’s been room-keyed be patrons before…but that’s not what I’m talking about at all.

Me: Well, if you’re going all in with dry January here, I can go somewhere else for a little drink.

The mixture of relief and I-can’t-believe-I-fell-for-it was pretty enjoyable for me. Assuming he enjoyed it, too, I stiffed him on the tip.

Kidding.

But he had to have known there was another shoe just waiting to drop. This is the bar where the other bartender spent weeks asking everyone if they’d seen the Hot D, referring to HBOMax’s Game of Thrones prequel, House of the Dragon.

The very next day, I shit you not, I witnessed the same phenomenon occurring in the wild.

The wilds of my coffee shop.

I’d just finished my set order at the counter, having ordered drinks for me and my perpetually tardy friend. At first I’d declared her as being on her own for coffee. Having a split second to rethink it, I opted to get her a two-shot version of my quad order, riffing as I did, “So I guess I’m removing her coffee agency since she was late!” This amused the woman taking orders, so I stiffed her on the tip.

More kidding. But could you imagine?

Not to be outdone by some old man, the young buck barista asked if I wanted her drink to be “half D”, meaning two regular shots and two decaf shots. I told him no, not seeing the point.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, it’s really whole D or nothing, if you ask me!”, says he with a puckish cock of an eyebrow.

I decided responding “Don’t you gay-bait me, son. You play with this old bull, you get the horn!” Instead, I did the dramatic laugh and point, adding, “This one, with the jokes!”

Does anyone else do/witness this type of prurient wordplay? Letterplay? Whatever.

I’m tempted to think this is the type of thing that would only happen to me or because of me, but who knows, maybe people are just feeling playful in general these days. After all, this is the town that I am fairly certain came up with the business that allows you to anonymously mail someone a literal bag of dicks.