While watching the mind-numbing goodness of prime-time network television the other night, I was struck by one of many ads for pills that will release men (and women) from the embarrassing bonds of erectile dysfunction.  We’ve all heard and seen these ads repeatedly unless, of course, you are a granola-eating backpacker who has eschewed the modernity and soul-sucking nature of television and, hell, technology in general – in which case, you’re likely not even reading this to begin with – so in that case, to hell with you.  You don’t know what you’re missing!  Literally!

Anyway, as I was saying, I actually chose to stay right where I was in front of the television and view this commercial, during which The Nice Man said things like “Talk to your doctor if you experience an erection lasting longer than 4 hours.”  Can you even imagine this conversation?

Guy:  Excuse me, doc, I gotta talk to you.

Doc:  Go ahead, son.  (He’s an old doctor who calls everyone “son”.)

Guy:  Well, I’ve got this problem with my, well…

Doc:  Have you tried the Viagra sample I sent home with you last time?

Guy:  Yeah, that’s just it, though.  My erection lasted, well…

Doc:  (leans in closer) Yes..?

Guy:  It lasted longer than 4 hours.

Doc:  Oh, I see.

Seriously, folks, what needs to be said here?  What can the doctor say?  “Well, ask her if she’s still in the mood”?  “Hire a hooker”?  “Call your kids’ babysitter”?  What’s the problem here?  Sounds like a party waiting – BEGGING – to happen!

But the thing that The Nice Man says in the ad that tickles me the most, the statement that prompted this post, is this one:

“Ask if you are healthy enough for sexual activity.”

Is this a question that ANYONE in the history of the human species, especially the MALES of this species, have ever even ONCE imagined, let alone asked of themselves or of anyone?

Forget the conversation with good ol’ doc.  He’ll tell you to eat right and exercise, right?  Sounds like a hot date to me!  But imagine that conversation with self:

Ego:  Am I healthy enough for sexual activity?

Id:  Fuck the girl fuck the girl fuck the girl

Super Ego:  Is my heart not strong enough for this?  Am I in prime physical shape?

Id:  Fuck the girl fuck the girl fuck the girl

Which voice wins?  You got it.  The good ol’ Id.  Thanks, William Golding.

Fucking is natural and fun and unstoppable and NO one gives a shit whether their heart is about to explode or not when they’re horny.

So, next time you see a Viagra ad on TV, just have a nice laugh at The Nice Man.  Sounds like he needs a pill or two of something stronger than they serve in the ad agency’s minibar.

I bet they thought they were being so cute.

They say there is a little truth in every joke, so whether the Phoenixville Baptists were joshing or not, well, you know what’s up.

judge

Here is a brilliant piece of comedy from That Mitchell and Webb Look, that award-winning British comedy team.

Question is – what will YOU do when you’ve seen the unholy fruit?  Rape and pillage? Murder?  Hire a prostitute?

Enjoy, you heathens!

Death all around us.

June 29, 2009

Poor Farrah.  Christ, of all the days to go, you know?

“Coming up later, we’ll talk to Michael Jackson’s former publicist and find out what she thinks of this tragedy which could have been forestalled if his physician hadn’t been such a money hungry, yes-man geek.  Oh, yeah, and some chick named Farrah died?  We’ll take a look at her sobbing fat-head of an ex-husband and watch rare outtakes from her stupid reality show.”

What is it about death that suddenly makes us want to congregate around the wrong star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?

Well, let’s face it.  Wacko Jacko transcended racial barriers.  He was a black man that white people could relate to, and then later in life, he was a white man that black people could relate to.

JOKE TIME!

Q.  What’s the difference between Neil Armstrong and Michael Jackson?

A.  One did the moon walk, the other one fucks little kids.

And we lost the OxiClean guy, too.

But here’s the big pisser of them all:  Losing the Queen of the Blues.

A brown colored horse with a strange name was the winner in Saturday’s Belmont Stakes race, beating out an entire group of brown horses similarly named in a peculiar manner.

The winning animal, a very fast and lean muscular type, was apparently not favored to win the race.  Another brown horse, with a slightly differently colored nose, was heavily favored to win.

The winning horse’s owner, a man of immeasurable monetary wealth, expressed his gratitude for winning the race and offered condolences to the other immeasurable wealthy men who suffered defeat.  “Our horse and jockey went out there and gave 100%,” the winning wealthy man said, who is set to add even more money to his already immense holdings as a result of Saturday’s race.

The winning jockey – a very short and skinny, effeminate man with a history of eating disorders, born into a wealthy family of horse breeders and whose diminutive physical stature and insatiably competitive nature left him no choice but to give up any dreams of other professional sports and pursue a career as a racing jockey – also commented on the race, saying, “This horse is just fast and powerful.  This animal did an amazing job.”