In my physics class I was not learning anything, it was an intro class for juniors and seniors and we were learning stuff that my science teacher had covered in seventh grade. I was bored, bored, bored. The teacher was one of those ladies who assumes because she has terrible personal hygiene and has no friends that she must be smarter than anyone else. She was not smart but really officious and condescending. One time I tried to engage her in a conversation about t he fallibility of scientific knowledge and she told me we know for a fact that science is right now even though it had been wrong in the past. I pointed out that there was no way for a local observer to infer universal truths and she said we definitely could. I couldn't understand why she was so ignorant of her own field and may have told her that. We were not friends. She is not the point of this story however it was a little girl who play Woodstock in the school's production of a play about Charlie Brown. She was absolutely and almost cruelly cast to type in that she was petite, skinny and birdlike. She seemed like an okay gal but she sat close to me and a friend of mine who were bored so we would give her grief. I would ask what it was like to play a woodchuck in the play. She would correct me in an exasperated tone and tell me it was Woodstock. She would ask if I had ever even seen a Charlie Brown cartoon or comic. I lied and said no. I would ask her how much wood she was required to chuck for the role and she would roll her eyes. I think she liked the attention. At some point our extreme boredom and young missus woodchuck came together in a joke that caught on more widely. While I was sitting back in my chair the zipper on my pants was curling up into a funny bulge which I started pulling into a more dramatic shape. Out of the blue I asked, “Hey Woodchuck, do you think this hurts?” and then punched my fists together on the fabric bulge over my crotch. She laughed and said I was a retard and then told me to stop. I reset the bulge and then made a big deal of winding up to give it a hard smash. She giggled and told me to stop. At that point my friend started doing it on his pants and then the third boy at the table of four joined in and soon we were all laughing and getting scolded. I demonstrated the joke to someone out in the hall at lunch and told the back story about asking Woodchuck if she thought it hurt. In the communication it was confused into calling pulling up a bulge in your pants and punching it between your fist a woodchuck. I don't know how long it went on for but it was still around when my wife came through the school four years later because she told me that punching a bulge in your zipper was called a woodchuck. My legacy of pseudo crotch punching.