Sunday, July 5, 2015
Dear Diary:
Before I begin, I’d just like to reiterate that, as I
mentioned during my physical last week, I do not suffer from Erectile Dysfunction. As everyone knows, all statements made during
a physical are done so under oath, and violators can face up to 12 years in
jail or public stoning in the town square. [Editor’s
Note: No one knows that, because it’s not true.]
On my way home from Raleigh, NC, where I watched the United
States Women’s National Team defeat Japan in the World Cup of Lady Soccer, a
commercial for one of the many remedies for male-pattern invirility came on the
radio. These types of advertisements,
while pleasantly absent during the Women’s World Cup, were all too commonplace
during the NBA Finals, March Madness, The SuperBowl, The World Series of Poker,
and The Scripps National Spelling Bee. (“Scripps,
where words aren’t the only things that are hard”…is a slogan which they,
inexplicably, turned down.) [Editor’s
Note: I wouldn’t say “inexplicably”.
Their concerns were quite splicable.]
The problem with these advertisements, other than bringing
to light that which should stay cloaked in the warm blanket of denial, is that
they paint an unrealistic picture of erectile dysfunction. Man sees his significant other painting a
bench, planting flowers, eating Cracker Jacks at a youth league baseball game, sitting
in side-by-side bathtubs in the backyard, or buying a Fiat; knowing glance;
and, next thing you know, implied sexual encounter. That’s just not realistic. First of all, who’s buying a Fiat? It can only be explained by sudden blood
loss, or, more accurately, blood redirection.
Secondly, where’s the awkwardness?
The fumbling? The following skit
outlines what I imagine (Again, no direct knowledge. Seriously, it’s like “Terminator: Rise of the
Machines” down there.) a typical evening of a man suffering from erectile
dysfunction to be like.
The scene: A man at
dinner with a woman for whom he has strong feelings. He has yet to mention her to his parents, but
his boys know she’s hot. Hotter than his
ex. The ex what did him wrong…so wrong!
Woman: “This has been a lovely evening. I’m so glad we came here.”
Man: “Yep.”
Woman: “It’s been really great getting to know you. Thanks for not pressuring me. I’ve made the
mistake of moving too quickly in the past and I promised myself that, going
forward [words…]”
Man: “Hey, ya gotta…Am I right?”
Woman: “Anyway, I think I’m ready to take things to the next
level.”
Man (sits up straight, eyes forward): “Wait…what?”
Woman: “I just feel so comfortable with you.”
Man: “Me, too. Can
you excuse me? I need to use the
facilities,” he says before getting up and leaving the woman at the table alone
with her thoughts…and cellphone…and, therefore, various social media apps.
Man comes back to the
table after emptying his bladder, ingesting a pill, checking his breath, and
thoroughly washing his hands. (He may
not be an employee, but he also wasn’t raised by wolves…unhygienic wolves,
because normal wolves wash their hands.)
Man: “So, did you want to get dessert? Preferably one that takes no longer than 30 –
45 minutes to order and consume?”
Woman: “Sigh”
Man: “What? We’re
still going to…next level…”
Woman: “How can I possibly think about being intimate when [something tragic about the children,
animals, the environment, or celebrity breakup]???”
Man: “Isn’t being close with someone just the thing in light
of the [situation at hand]? Besides—wait
are you serious about not leveling up, or is this one of those ‘You just want
to know that I’m sensitive to what’s important to you’ things that’ll blow over
by the time the flan arrives? By the
way, I ordered flan.”
Woman: “I just don’t think I can give my whole self to anyone
in my current mood.”
Man (frantically searching for SNL clips, videos of adorable
animals doing adorable things with adorable children, or pertinent quotes from
the Dalai Lama): “Are you serious right now?
I don’t want to be ‘that guy’, but if you’re serious, things are going
to get really awkward in about 20 – 35 minutes…and, according to the label,
could remain awkward for up to four hours.
If awkwardness lasts for longer than four hours, I will need to seek
medical attention. And while we’re on
the subject, who settled on four hours as the cut-off? I mean, who has four hours of material???? I got asthma!”
[Editor’s Note:
Seriously. Who has four hours of material? Just to set expectations, if I go for four
hours, it’s gonna be like a 1990s rap album: 30 minutes of original material
mixed in with a bunch of remixes and questionable skits…and, afterwards, you’ll
be asking yourself, “What DIDN’T make the album?!?!”]
Woman (completely focused on the news of the day by this
point): “Sigh.”
Waiter: “Here’s your flan.
Enjoy.”
Man: “Thanks. Can I
get the chocolate mousse?”
Waiter: “That’ll take about an hour given the backlog in the
kitchen.”
Man: “I got time.”
And scene.
Once again, I must reiterate that the above skit was a complete work of fiction and not based on actual events. My testosterone levels are, and I quote, “exceptional”. [Editor’s Note: He’s quoting himself. So…grain of salt.] It’s like "Sharknado" down there...if "Sharknado" were about testosterone rather than…whatever the hell "Sharknado" was about.
No comments:
Post a Comment