A sort of a thingamawhozit

My daughter reports this enlightening conversation with her seven-year-old:

Little E: Mom, what's a Doohickey?

Mom: A thingamabob. 

Well, what am I supposed to do with that? 

Ahem: 

A Whozit, a Whatsit, a Whatchamacallit

Met for lunch with a Thingamahooey:

Just a nibble, a nosh, and an ort—oh my gosh!—

A dribble, a crumb, some chop sooey,

A smidgen, a schmear, a firkin of beer,

And a gulp of some whim-wham-wandango,

But they swallowed it all and went out of the hall

With a floop, flip, and flashing fandango.

With a wink and a wiggle they commenced up the middle

Of Whangdoodle Street, where—kerphlooey!

The Whozit, the Whatsit, the Whatchamacallit

Parted ways with the Thingamahooey. 

You can look for them here, you can look for them there,

You can seek out their kind slow or quickly,

But the word you can't find at the edge of your mind--

Well, we'll just name that fellow Doohickey.