Ah, well, there are, as of yet, enjoyable things to ponder…like how neat it is that girls fold up. They just bend differently, which is good. Pliability factor, creates male fascination with the unknown. I can’t do that, it’s so cool…I mean I really think men would look silly if we could do that. But it looks good on them. And how do they get their legs to shine, without nylons? It’s just another great wonder of the world. From birth we’re sexual beings, it’s really the reason we’re here. It’s not to slog to work everyday, it’s not. It’s to enjoy each other and procreate. However, we end up slogging to work more than we do enjoying each other. OK, ready for this: Media person Paula Zahn may be somewhat sexy. But she’s a newsperson so this is bad, since we don’t take sexy people seriously. I suspect it’s because we’re uptight diamond shitters here in the good ole’ U.S. of A. Take a look at European news, lots of good lookers. And hey, the guys here aren’t butt ugly on the news, so why does everybody get all bent when a newspaper says Paula got to where she is partly on her looks…like this is some Earth shattering epiphany. We’re sexual beings, we use sex to sell and that’s what news is, selling. I’d rather watch a good-looking newsperson, so would you. What the hell is the difference what the messenger looks like? The news is being filtered by the same people so at least let the BS spew from attractive lips. Do we really think that Paula and Dan or Wolf or any of them have any power to MAKE the news? Silly, we’re all very silly. Katie Couric got about 4 trillion dollars to do that morning show…I like her, I’m glad she got it. Is it because she's ugly? No Katie is an all-American sweetheart, even if she says she got fired from Pizza Hut, she overcame that immensely trivial obstacle…. God bless her. Who wouldn’t want to wake up with Katie? Sex sells... write that down. Women are such a wonderful quandary right down to that little thing. The thing equivalent to the male thing. The clitoris, it feels dirty just writing that. Yet, it’s just a female body part and woe to the man that doesn’t know at least what it is. I know we don’t know how it works, there aren’t any directions. It’s too bad it can’t talk. Vaginas evidently can, they have monologues. But, all they keep talking about is the same stuff that comes out of most women’s mouths. I was really hoping for some enlightenment, but no. Something like “and my friend just to my North likes to have this done, this way”. Helpful stuff, but I’ve spent time on expeditions to that area and nary once has it spoken a word. No tips or words of encouragement. And the friend to the North likes to play hide and seek. There it is, nope, there it is, and nope…sounds of frustration emanate from the far North. Stop squirming, this thing’s got a mind of it’s own and I know your going to critique my performance and I’m under a lot of pressure and I’ve got my best man on the job. It’s like a war zone down here, flashlight please? Nope, just get down there! Right, I’ve seen horror movies, all their friends massacred and yet, there they go. Tumbling into the dark basement, no lights, no map…nothing. We all know this is not a good idea and yet…that’s the order: Just get down there! Fine… No, OK… I’ve got it surrounded it’s here…I know it. Hey, is this a bad time to bring up the fact that they’re different sizes? You guys make fun of us and, yet, you got the same problems. You just send us in with no instructions on a search and destroy mission and in order to complete this mission you must find the mythical happy-maker and subdue the enemy with vicious lashings. Be careful, she’s slippery and oh, did we forget to mention if you're doing a good job, we're gonna raise the level of difficulty by squirming all over the bed. There really should be restraints involved to make it fair…but I haven’t had any. I’ve always had to perform this dangerous stunt freestyle, without a net. Failure is not an option; the penalty is death by critique. An extremely enjoyable game it would be, if it weren’t for all the pressure. It’s not like we get a lot of practice time. Nope, get in there and perform. Hey, I got a few questions. What’s down there? What in the hell are we supposed to do? “Make me happy.” Oh, well, must be simple…yeah, like the meaning of life. It’s like OZ down there; it’s where you’ve always wanted to be, at the end of the yellow brick road. But there’s no wizard helping? No, just me behind the curtain pushing buttons and pulling levers. It’s pretty easy to tell negative feedback, a knee or ankle jab…a kick or just a jerk. Yeah, that’s easy. Really? No, those same elements are used to express joy. OK, now what? Keep going. Keep going at which part? That part. Sit still. No. OK. Where the hell are you going? Right there. I know where I am. Where did IT go? Right there. Thanks. What the hell was that noise? Shut up. I’ve been shutting up, I’m snorkeling for the mythical happy-maker. Shut up, I’m almost there. Great, whatever…ah, there it is, contact is made. There is life down here. I’m not gonna lose that little bastard again, hang on to pelvic region. Christ, we’re losing her Captain; I’m given her all she’s got. It wasn’t a millimeter away from my tongue; it was there, laughing at me…taunting me. Any idiot sailing West would’ve hit land and Columbus got a holiday named after him. I’m just hoping my ordeal gets me a nap. Why in the hell is she fighting me? Oh, lord God; thank you…an orgasm. Jesus, where did these bruises come from? And a little blood, from my leg? Hm, her toenails are done nicely, but a little sharp…oh, yeah, the kicking. Right. What? Wait, no really, I’m honored. Yes, sure…no problem, you want to be on top now. Cool, no I’m ready, ugh…fine and what? You want me to find that thing again? With my hands? Hey, no problem, I don’t suppose you’d consider getting that thing pierced? Kind of like putting a leash on it…ya’ know, mark it for future reference. I was just down there; the Loch Ness Monster’s easier to find. Sure, and now you want me to find it while on my back, with you on top, bouncing around…sure, no problem…not even a challenge… Women got it easy, we’re very straight forward, much easier to operate. And you guys make fun of us? Oh, yeah, sex sells. Britney Spears and all of her wannabes sell. They sell to all men and some women and girls. Yet we wander around in denial. Give it to me one more time? What the hell do you think she’s talking about? Bob Dole in the commercial is blatantly turned on…but she’s not of age? Or maybe she was, but who gives a crap? Bob’s carbon dated. But hey, more power to him, Britney turns my crank too. The advertisers know it. As I get older, I realize the women I thought were old aren’t and the ones I thought were just right still are. And yet I’m sure some uptight hypocrite will point out some perversion. The only perversion is an aversion to the truth. If millions of people didn’t want to be her or be with her, she wouldn’t be on TV and we’d get somebody else. Actually the media would just create somebody else. Somebody sexier, more pleasing…more sexy, more saleable. I have no problem with that. Playboy and Hustler and hell, all of them…sex is here to stay people. Quit fighting nature. There's a reason 57-gazillion people buy the Sports Illustrated SwimSuit issue. Jeesh… Women are great though. Man’s torment…the eternal puzzle. Gotta love it…if we figured them out, what else would we have to do? Slog off to work? We wouldn’t even have wars. Women are the reason we fight. To protect them, to nurture them, to give them cars and kids and money and stuff…if it weren’t for them we wouldn’t give a shit who controlled the world. The world would be awash in beer and clothing stores and stores for everything we don’t want to wash. We’d have one big intergalactic kegger down here. But for the love of a woman. Furthermore, to the males credit, we don’t sit around and talk about how you guys taste. We could, we don’t. But the fairer sex blabs about penis size to friends to magazines to TV…penis size is everywhere. Not once have I seen female taste testing…a social bias? You bet, we men show some respect for our bed partners. We take the high road when discussing your personals. Imagine us as food critics. How would you like it if we shared recipes? Or the trauma suffered chasing that thing all over with you wailing and kicking. We deserve a little respect, not much, but a little. I shall call all my vaginal ramblings: The Penile Monologues buy unique gifts at Zazzle |
  
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