"Chode"...a history

“Chode”...a history






The debate on the origin of this word has spanned decades. Generations even. It is a subject of much controversy, debate, meaning and genesis. A simple mono-syllabic word has literally ripped the slang using globe in half.

Not just in half...in thirds!

The word in question, of course, is “chode”.

This came about a while ago when I heard some young men calling themselves that at a local college bar where I was, as usual, disguised as the school mascot for I do love the dollar Schlitz on tap. It was a beaver costume and I have no idea if that was indeed the school mascot.

“Dude, you’re such a chode!” one of them said to another.

“I’m not a chode! You are!” he replied.

This got me to thinking. Now when I was a youngster, the term “chode” meant a lazy smelly slacker. These young upstarts did not appear to be any of the aforementioned adjectives. They had popped collars, blonde hair, visors on backwards and sandaled feet under expensive looking jeans. I believe the term “douchebag” was more appropriate.

So I got up from my stool and walked over to them.

“Look, it’s some chode in a beaver costume,” one of them said at my arrival. “Hey beaver man, you know beaver is another name for poon!”

I did know that. But that’s not why I approached them.

Curious, I asked the group what they thought “chode actually meant.

“Dude, it’s a tiny dick that’s thicker then it is long,” a guy in an Ed Hardy shirt explained. “Like Greg here...he’s got a chode.”

“Screw you Andy! You’re the one with the chode.”

I then began to ponder in my beaver costume if that was indeed the actual translation.

A year before I was in Iowa, waiting for my car to be fixed and drinking coffee in a local diner. I had broken down on the 60 and almost hit a bear who was mauling a man in the middle of the road. I was lucky and swerved off to the left.

As I sat there eating hash browns and sipping coffee a trucker walked in and sat next to me.

“Been on the road for three days now,” he extolled malodorously. “My chode is itchin’ somethin’ fierce!”

I then had to ask what a chode was.

“That space between your nuts and butthole. Some call it the taint but I call it the chode. Because, you know...tradition.”

Half gagging from his reek and the uncooked hash browns, I recalled calling someone a chode in high school. He was a lazy and dirty fellow, always drunk and high and never once did he change his socks after gym.

“Arnold?” I said to the man. “Is that you?”

“Holy crap! Yeah it’s me. Man I haven’t seen you since high school.”

We chatted and he gave me his phone number while I gave him the number for my local pest control office.

So recently I sat down and put all of these definitions and tales together. I then went to the library and did some research on my own, I Googled the word “chode” and studied it’s lineage, I also contacted experts, historians, professors and people in the adult film industry. I had to know. Dear God...I just had to know.

Two hours later, I had all the information I needed.

This is the result!

The word “chode” stems back to the year 1018 when a fledgling band of Vikings were making their way to Constantinople to pillage and raid. This particular band was known throughout the waters as the most vile and disturbing faction known to eat the knees of their victims, poop on the necks of the fallen and steal cheese that had gone bad. Their next site was on a small township in Constantinople where it was rumored to have not only sultry virgins and riches, but cheese so stinky it was used to ward off invading enemies.

The most feared and repugnant Viking on that ship was no other than Chode Slorgensblorgen. This detestable heap of man crust was known for diabolical acts against poultry that I really don’t want to get into now. It wasn’t so much his skills at battle that earned him his reputation, oh no. Chode Slorgensblorgen was a notorious jerkoff.



Chode would usually wait till his fellow Vikings raided and had the city under their control. He would then wake up from his grog nap, stumble out to see “what the commotion is all about” and proceed to tear up the place.

Legend has it that the women he took advantage of passed out long before he had a chance to invade their sanctity.

“Oh he was awful,” sites Professor Flederman at Johns Hopkins University. “He was not only the smelliest man alive, stinking of lutefisk that had gone bad weeks ago, but also had a penis that looked like a crushed tall boy can of beer and an undercarriage that, literally, emitted a green bog mist from maltreatment and debris from an unkept anus and testicles. He was disgusting.”

That revolting characteristic made Chode Slorgensblorgen legend among pirates and pillagers alike. Cities nearly crumbled in dread when his ship would arrive.

“Townships readily gave up their gold and daughters to them just so Chode would stay on board and leave them alone,” Prof. Flederman explained. “After a Chode Viking raid, they would have to de-louse before they rebuilt. It was spooky how awful that guy was.”

One drunken night aboard the longship, Chode and the other’s got way to drunk and Chode began lighting his farts with the torches. Apparently they were so foul and mammoth that it lit the sail on fire. The others threw him overboard where he drifted to land on an empty grog barrel.

Eventually Chode landed on the shores of Tibet where the locals regarded him as a god. His white skin and terrible odor got him the respect of everyone. After he died in 1032, they erected a mighty temple in his honor, the Palkhor Chode temple in Tibet.



Years went by and the legend of Chode Slorgensblorgen was lost in the fetid winds of time.

That is until the year 1347.

The clan of Vikings had reached the shores of Constantinople almost two centuries prior, but a slow plague had been growing. The people weren’t bathing, they were drinking in excess, they liked to watch animals copulate in public forums and their stinky wet cheese fetish was an epidemic.

The well known “Black Plague” had spread and was spreading across Europe but parts of Constantinople were safe because of that cheese. While at the same time, the generations of self neglect, mead binging, laundry abandoning, feet scraping and cheese gorging had caused a national outbreak. Years of writhing in the stench caused people to have similar symptoms as the plague but were, in fact, dying from their own sloth and gluttony.

The bishop had then decreed this sickness “the Chode” and would be from then on known for its slovenly demeanor to which it perished.

About a hundred years later the Ottoman Turks took it over so who cares? All they made was something to rest your feet on.



In 1789 a strange group of nature worshipers had sprung out of the western European pagan communities.

Known for its nudity and aversion to proper wiping, the Chode Pagans emerged as a curious outset for the religion.

“This was a group of people that loved nature and believed that to get close to it you keep that area between the thighs untouched as to appease the gods of dirt,” notes Randall Keene, theologist and Chode Pagan expert.

The Chode Pagans loved to frolic in the sun, dance by bonfire at night, pray to the mighty god that lived in men’s under areas and walked bowlegged.

“They weren’t very popular,” explains Keene. “In fact, they were ostracized by the other pagan groups. The Chode’s were laughed at and ridiculed for their silly beliefs. Even the ones that worshiped sides of ham thought the Chode’s were ridiculous. Which they were...but still. To each his own I suppose.”



The Chode’s soon disbanded and went forth to cleaner neither region pastures. Plus all that nudity was getting them sick. Have you been to western Europe in the winter? Can you say ‘hey-my-nipples-are-about-to-fall-off’? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

So at this point the “chode” was split in two. Some saw the word to express someone who is shiftless, foul smelling and a dorkwad while others viewed it as the under area between the genitals and poop chute.

It wasn’t until 1942 that the duo would become a threesome.

Rabbi Moishe Bris Chodenstein wrote a manifesto “The Foreskin, I Say Leave It On: Why The Bris Is For Schmucks!” claiming that the only reason Rabbi’s perform a Bris is to make the man’s penis appear longer.

“The Chodenstein’s were known for having very unusual penis’”, claims Jewish American studies teacher Herschel Stern. “In fact, Rabbi Chodenstein was thought to be a girl for the first five years of his life. One day, apparently, somethin started to show and his mother took off the bonnet and put him in a tie. He was so taken by this that he figured if God gave him what he gave him we shouldn’t go against it.”

Known as the Chode Jews, this coalition of the faith resists the tradition to snip away a baby boy’s foreskin because, hey, if God gave it to you it must be okay.

“At the same time it couldn’t hurt,” extends Stern. “Most of the Chode Jews are really, um, shall we say “lacking’ in the man package department. Size of the ship my butt. These guys look like tugboats that crashed into an iceberg. Not an attractive bunch there, let me tell you.”

In fact Rabbi Chodenstein was rumored to have a penis two inches long yet nearly a foot in diameter.

“I don’t know who started this rumor,” Herschel contends. “Some say his wife, Kegel Chodenstein, who was simply fed up or protesters of the man and his book. I really don’t know. And, to be honest with you...I don’t really care.”




Around the 1960's all three terms were in use but still underground. The rock group Psychedelic Lampshade had a song called “Chode Me” which went on about their ‘man basement’ and ballyhooed about a ‘squashy frolic gnome’. Whatever that may be.

In essence, the Catholics viewed the chode as a lazy ne’er-do-well while the Jews saw it as a “expanse not extent” penis as Pagan’s likened the term to their “taint” or “gooch”, named after the tree they danced around all nuded up and dingy.

So what is the proper use of the word? Is it just one? Or possibly all three? Obviously it depends on the location and person saying it. Some places in the US, it is a stubby johnston. In parts of Europe the stick of skin between the package and the brown bear cave. While scattered about the globe, it still means a gross dickhead that never showers or cleans up after themselves.

Yet, in parts of rural Tibet, it means “Almighty pale God of smell and spittle.”

United we stand, divided on the chode...we’re on the wall!



- Mark Whittaker

"Metal" Mark Whittaker presents...Party Ice!

Artist Spotlight: Party Ice







Many rappers and hip hop icons have come and gone like the one hit wonder singles they have provided for us over these past few decades. Only fairly recently has hip hop truly invaded the modern psyche of the 21st century. Sure in the 80's, cute child actors in sitcoms released “rap” albums to capitalize on the growing success of the genre and, yes, in the 90's Rodney Dangerfield released aan album called “Rappin’ Rodney”, but today it is a global machine generating billions of dollars and has taken over the entire world.

Like many other styles of music, Hip Hop has legions of imitators and posers putting out countless forgotten CDs and albums only to be regarded as casualties of the industry. Some make it, most don’t. It’s a tough “dog eat Dogg” world out there for DJ’s and MC’s and only the strong survive.

One of the most prolific and often sampled “casualty” of this sensation is none other than Belt, Montana’s own “crazy boy who plays the mic like a toy” Party Ice.

Born Hamish Schmeckel in 1977 to Polish immigrant parents that owned a turnip and sauerkraut stand in Belt, he would go on to become one of the genres most outrageous and controversial artists.

“My pops wanted me to go into the business,” Party Ice told me recently in an interview, “but I was all ‘nah G...I gots ta do my own thing’. Word.”

A skinny and very pale Hamish was often ridiculed and teased as a child.

“My spine was all f**ked up yo and my eyes were like all crazy ‘n s**t, so I had to wear this wack ass helmet and neckbrace. Dude I cold looked like a spaceman yo. Like wires and s**t comin’ out and goin’ all over the place. It was wack yo. It made me fall over in kickball.”

Through the hardships of his health and working after school at the turnip stand, Hamish knew he was destined for something great.

“Dude, I was cold born’d in the year ‘Star Wars’ came out. And that’s, like, a big movie and s**t. Chewbacca’s and s**t runnin’ all over your dome. Made mad money yo. So I was all, I wanna be like that Ham dude. Be a straight pimp of the galaxy.”

Hamish tried all sorts of options to make a break for the big time.

“I put on puppet shows yo,” he said in his Los Angeles apartment over looking a taco stand. “Like that Muppet dude was all crazy with cash yo. So I was like, I wanna make mad cash too.”

Hamish’s first puppet show was part of his grade school’s talent competition. At age 7 he constructed puppets out of brown lunch bags and made a set using materials from his uncle’s rumpus room. It was a 5 minute interpretation of the hit adult classic “Debbie Does Dallas”.

“I like’d that movie yo,” he explained. “Chicks were doin’ all sorts of crazy s**t. That movie made money, that Muppet dude had money so I just combined the two. It was fresh man. People freaked out yo.”

He was expelled the next day.

A move out to California to get the turnip stand a new life, his parents ended up in West Covina.

“That’s the first time I saw a black dude,” Party Ice said. “I ran for my life and hid in the bushes. I thought he was the devil yo. Turns out he was the electrician turning our power on.”

With a new environment came new opportunities. Hamish began doing Mime down on the famous Venice beach boardwalk.

“I wore a ski mask and a cape,” he told of his performance artist days, “and I jumped around like all insane. I’d go up and grab peoples hats and step on them or I’d chase old people acting like a gorilla. Sometimes the police would come and I’d take off my shoes and pretend to eat them. I was the youngest and best mime on that boardwalk yo. No one could touch me. No one wanted to.”

It was the summer of 1986 that seriously changed Hamish forever. A trip to a record store so his father could purchase a compilation of the most depressing polka songs, Hamish came across an album that would set the gears in motion.

“Yo, I picked up this record right. It had a dude on it that looked like that electrician man. It had a catchy title, so I put it under my shirt and walked out. I told the guy at the front counter that I didn’t speak English to explain why my shirt was all square and s**t.”

The album in question, “Zip Zap Rap” by Devastatin’ Dave the Turntable Slave is considered one of the worst hip hop albums of all time. But it changed Hamish forever.

“I stayed up all night listenin’ to them songs yo,” Party Ice recalls with a sweaty neck. “It was like magic. I didn’t know what Devastatin’ Dave was saying but...it spoke to me.”



That’s when Hamish began writing down lyrics and practicing his rapping.

“I had this old Casio piano thing and I’d set the ‘marching band’ beat to slow and rap over it. My first song was called “Cornflakes Get Soggy” which was about my alienation and rebellion on society yo.”

His attire changed as well. His usual appearance which consisted of plaid pants, terrycloth shirts and cleats soon changed to leather pants, sleeveless shirts, baseball caps and tap shoes.

“I wanted everyone to know when I stepped in the room, “ he said. “Nothin’ like that stone cold ‘click click click’ of them tap shoes yo to turn everyone’s heads. It was on.”

Through the years he practiced and honed his MC skills and in high school he discovered something that would finally give him a new name

“Man, I went through all sorts of rapper names,” Party Ice said over a cold glass of MD 20/20 with an umbrella sticking out of it. “Like my first name was Kid Scruffy cuz I was like a werewolf on the mic yo. Then I was MC Skidmark cuz my lyrics took off like a race car. Then I became Griddle Master because I had a job at Denny’s.”

At age 16 Hamish was popular for not only being a talented rapper but also for being able to drink copious amounts of beer and destroying classmates homes during a party.

“I could drank so much beer I would pee foam yo,” he explained excitedly. “I was the party master. Dude I threw so many TVs out of windows and stole so much silverware no one ever wanted me back in their home. I was notorious.”

A trip to the local 7-11 brought him face to face with destiny.

“There it was,” he said, “staring me right in the face. Right there, yo, in the freezer. Big bags of the stuff. All it said was ...Party Ice.”

The frozen cubes used to go around kegs to keep them cold was now his new MC name and would stick throughout his entire career.

At age 18 came a break. A local TV station was having a battle of the bands and Party Ice knew that was his big chance.

“Yo all I brought to that station was my boom box, a tape with those marching band beats on them, my fresh fly threads and my skills yo. Oh and my dad brought some turnips to sell. That man taught me everything about business.”

Party Ice performed two songs, “Party Level Radio” and “I’m Gonna Eat This Microphone.”

“Those were my party anthems yo,” Party Ice clarified as he flossed his toes. “Man I was all up in that studio. The audience just sat there yo. Stunned. They couldn’t take it. My lyrics were rippin’ them up like a Martian wearing Freddy Krueger claws that was on a sugar high yo!”

Party Ice didn’t win the competition but he did catch the attention of a local producer, Jackson Ficklebarrel, known for his unusual lifestyle and pandering of novelty records.

“Jackson liked short people yo,” he recalls with wet eyes and spittle on either side of his mouth, “so he had these records with midgets singing funny versions of pop songs. Like Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” would be “Short Stuff” and that song “Short People” became “Tall People Suck”. S**t like that”

A year later Party Ice’s first album hit, 1996's “Nuts in the Mouth”.

“That title explained it all yo,” he justified. “Because I was the new party king on the block and my words were insane. What came out of my mouth was just plain nuts. I couldn’t be touched. I was wrecking stages and carpets at every show.”

That album spawned an almost hit, the floor rocking “Crotch Waffle” which dictated getting ‘gooey’ with a ‘freak’ at a party then making her pay for breakfast.

“That song is autobiographical yo. I only speak the troof.”

A year of constant touring and hooking up with random ladies across the US gave him a new perspective on life. His next album, “Ho Hotel” was his ode to lovemaking in the most graphic way possible.

“I love them bitches,” he told as he gently scraped his navel. “And dem bitches loved me. Seeing as I write what I know back then I knew p***y. So I wrote that s**t. I was on top of the world.”

The club hit “Gooch Lollipop” described in full detail about his neither regions being a lollipop for some willing lady and introduced the world to something called the “clamdip volcano”, something I cannot render in print for it will surely have me arrested in most states.

“This limbless fisherman in Canada told me about that clamdip volcano,” Party Ice recounts. “I couldn’t thank him enough. I went to go shake his hand but he just started crying so I gave him a copy of my first CD.”

“Ho Hotel” landed him an opening spot to the newly reformed 2 Live Crew and took him to new heights.

“One night I was doing a show and this girl was on the stage lookin’ at me like I was some kind of object,” he said with a sad face. “I don’t play that yo. You the object bitch! So I threw the mic down and found God.”

A year of living in a monastery that housed both lepers and recovering game show addicts, Party Ice knew that he was going down a new path. When he got back in the studio he put out his most ambitious release to date.

“Heaven Smells Like My Pew” is Party Ice’s foray into faith inspired song writing.

“That was a deep ass record yo. I had Jesus on my back. I just laid down and let him take control. I was happiest on my knees sitting in my own pew. It was awesome.”

“Heaven Smells Like My Pew” debuted at #19,224 on the Billboard chart. Something had to be done.

Fearing failure and threats from his manager and label, Party Ice got back on track and went to the label Deaf Roe Reppards and changed his image to a hardcore gangster.

In the year 2000, Party Ice released the menacing “Unload On Yo Face” depicting him on the cover sticking a gun between the eyes of a man resembling Rush Limbaugh except that he was black and wore glasses.

“People thought I was straight racist yo,” Party Ice depicts with wild hand gestures. “They was all ‘why you gotta be hatin’ on Al Roker?’ I’m like, naw son, that aint Al, that’s muthaf***in’ Rush Limbaugh yo. See, he be all fat and stupid ‘n s**t. I hate Rush Limbaugh. Al Roker be my n***a.”

The album did moderately well and the single “Till The Gun Goes Click Up Yo Azz” was fairly well received, especially in the small yet intimidating faction of gangsta rap homosexuals.

“I aint with them dudes yo. But they bought the album so...whatever.”

That year, Party Ice was on a float in San Francisco’s gay pride parade. He wore dark sunglasses to conceal his identity and a mesh top to let you know he was down.

That’s when things began to spiral out of control for Party Ice. The failing records, the constant partying, the waning image to uphold, the itching, it all began to collapse on him and one night on stage he broke.

During a 2002 concert in Kansas City, Party Ice began to get extremely dizzy.

“I was doin’ my tune “Pump That Rump” and, you know, kickin’ them midgets in the balls,” (I did fail to mention that his manager insisted on at least one dwarf toss and midget crotch kick during his shows, it was contractual) “when all the sudden the room started spinning. I was like, was it the ten fo’ties I drank before? Was it the mef? The paint I done huffed? The PCP? The ballpeen hammer to my temples? Naw...couldn’t be.”

It was, in fact, a piece of cheese he ate the night before.

“Aw snap! I forgot that I was all lactose intolerant and s**t. Cheese f**ked me up. So after I kicked that little dude in the nuts I collapsed.”

Immediately rushed to the hospital, Party Ice recuperated in the emergency ward and banged about three nurses.

“Them nurses be freaks yo. Plus they got the good drugs too. I didn’t want to leave.”

And leave he did not. Party Ice overstayed his welcome at the hospital for a whole ten months, racking up unpayable bills and shooting other patients morphine drips up his nose. Eventually he was caught and sent to prison where he served five years for theft, destruction of property, unpaid bills and back taxes, obscenity, reckless endangerment, exposing himself to a nun, bestiality, conspiring to assassinate Andy Dick, grand theft auto, scalping tickets to a John Tesh concert, misconduct in a cafeteria and illegal use of a tackle box.

When he was released in 2007, Party Ice went back to LA and worked at his family’s turnip stand. He then got an apartment on Sunset, across from said taco stand, and started planning his comeback.

Today, Party Ice has just finished a new album titled “Still Insane And Off The Chain” which should hit stores this summer.

That is, if he can get his boombox to work...





-Mark Whittaker