Let’s Think About Your Body the Way You Think About Mine

Sean Braisted has inspired me.

Let’s talk about prostates.  As you know, the primary purpose of the penis is to give heterosexual women pleasure, and so it’s necessary for us to monitor the prostate and concern ourselves with general prostate health.  I specifically am discouraged to see so many doctors resolving prostate difficulties through surgery and radiation treatments and chemotherapy, which may result in erectile difficulties.

While it’s true that such surgeries may seem necessary in order to prevent death, how can we really be certain that most of them aren’t just to relieve discomfort?  I don’t think we can.  And so, today, I’m asking y’all to join with me to encourage Congress to pass a law restricting all treatments of prostate disorders that might result in erectile difficulties.

Gentlemen, surely you understand.  The basic unit of society is the heterosexual family and every effort must be made to preserve that unit.  In some countries, it’s estimated that one in four women have sought sexual satisfaction from men outside of the marital bonds, thus causing the family unit to be comprised of children whose genetic materials don’t match the father.  If men took more seriously their responsibility to keep their wives sexually satisfied, we’d see far less of this family-threatening behavior.

Surveys and anecdotal evidence suggests that heterosexual women consider penetrative intercourse to be when an erect penis enters a vagina.  Penises incapable of erections therefore undermine our basic traditional understanding of what heterosexual sex is.

Since most everyone in the country agrees on this definition of sex, I’m even considering having it enshrined in the Constitution.  This way we can more easily legislate ways to curtail behavior that might harm men’s ability to perform this most natural act.

The Other Stuff From Yesterday I Lead You To Wonder About

A brief update on the cats: fuck them. 

A brief update on Mrs. Wigglebottom.  I think it’s obvious that her back left leg is still tender.  She’s still holding it kind of funny, but she’s back to chasing flies and giving me looks that seem to suggest that we should do something more exciting than sit around in our pajamas all morning.  She is the best dog ever.

Well, “best” as in “I like her better than any other dog.”  Let’s not go crazy with any suggestion that she’s the best behaved dog ever, because if you come over here, you’re getting licked and jumped on and introduced to some gross slobbery toy no matter how many times I say “no.”


Serious Business

Y’all, I have acquired through nefarious, secret, internet means, a copy of a photo of Sarcastro and the Lil Knuck and one of the stuffed horses. I am going to post it, of course.

This is a sad moment because I lived through the ingesting of Frontline and the tiny cat’s decision to use my upper body as an escape route away from me, and I know that there’s a 50% chance that posting this picture is going to provoke Sarcastro into coming over here and running me over with his big red truck.

But I’ve had a full life. Some of you, and I’m not mentioning any names, you know who you are, could have done more to make it fuller, and I should have been braver in other circumstances. I never did get to Savannah or Charleston, which I always wanted to do, and I never found true love.

But why dwell on regrets? No, if we have to go out in a mess of me and red truck, let’s face that with honor.

So, I’m warning you, if you look at the picture below, you will see something so sweet and funny that it’s likely that even the most manly among you will make a slight “Oh” noise in your throats before you are able to regain control of yourself.



My Cats: Heaven Doesn’t Want Them and Hell’s Afraid They’ll Take Over

I’m bleeding from my neck.  I’m covered in tuna fish and tuna fish juice.  I have a mouth full of cat hair and, I suspect, half of the Frontline that was supposed to go on the Tiny Cat.

If I die tonight, I’m laying bets on the ingesting of Frontline as the culprit, that or an infection from the gash on my neck.

But both cats have had some Frontline squirted in their general vicinity.  Hopefully that will do a little good.  Otherwise, we’re just going to have to hope that the fleas jump from the cats to the dog and get taken care of that way.  Presuming anyone has fleas.  I haven’t seen any, but you never know, I guess.

Scientists, listen up.  Here’s what you need to do.  You need to make a flea repellent for cats that is edible by said cats.  You need to camouflage that flea repellent to look like a tasty houseplant.  Then, if I want the cats to be flea free, I just place the fake houseplant that is really medicinal some place in my house where it would seem no cat could possibly ever get to it.

That plant will be unmolested, I guarantee, for less than thirty seconds.  At second thirty-one, those cats will have found a way into the plant and be chewing on it.

Why the fuck isn’t all cat medicine delivered that way?  I just don’t know.

Or fucking Purina, why don’t you get on the ball and you and Frontline get together and give me Frontline laced cat food that they can eat that will turn them into walking time bombs for fleas and ticks.

I mean there just has to be a better way to get them the flea protection they need without it involving tears and blood on my part.  As much as that shit costs, it should not also cost me vital fluids.