That Certain Part of a Man's Body

Posted By:	The Boneman
Posted On:	Mon Mar 31st, 2008

Don't worry - I'm not gonna go off on another long-winded election rant. I was just wondering if Bill Clinton likes it when other prominent politicians get caught with their pants down like he used to do so prolifically. Does it make people forget about Monica and the gals or does it just refresh our memories? I think he loved being the President so much that he even misses the shame and disgrace it caused him. How about indulge me a quick stroll down the corridors of "Billy the Id's" corrupted cortex. "Boy I tell ya' man, that Spitzer and McGreevey - what a couple of pansies! Draggin' their wives out there so they could share the shame? Didn't they learn anything from me? You didn't see me trottin' Hillary out like some kind of martyred moper. (He shakes his head vigorously, letting his tongue and cheeks waggle crazily) "Blooga" what-do-I-care - I swear this race is gonna be the death of me. We "gotta" win this thing. No matter how much we gotta spend on Super Delegates. Freakin' Obama - doesn't he get it? If he was a real man he'd throw in the towel and let history take its glorious course. It ain't about a black man or a woman being President – both those things have happened in the movies tons of times, whoopee. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who understands what we're really on the threshold of? Hey, I'll spell it out if I have to. I will be the only man ever – everty ever ever - to "be" the President and "do" the President. Hello! On the "cool scale" that would be like the Beatles times Elvis - it's just off the freakin scale. Don't get me wrong, I know my wife is kind of a scary old hide, but trust you me – it's no myth that power is an aphrodisiac – you can leave the Viagra in the drawer, baby. Just put on "Hail to the Chief" and come cloppity cloppin' out here in those 3000 dollar heels and a navy blue power suit – are you kiddin' me – I'd shred it with my teeth. That's the kind of History I'm "talkin'" about. Come on people, just vote for Hillary and I'll take it from there.

Speaking of Viagra, have you seen the newest round of commercials for this new drug Extenze, "who would have thought that taking a little pill could make such a big difference to that "certain" part of a man's body?" (the man smiles furtively and gives his lady a big thumbs up) "Can it really be so - a pill that actually enlarges that certain part of a man's . . . physique?" (the guy looks pretty young so I think we can safely assume that the certain enlarged body part isn't his prostate.) Why it's a miracle!" Just think about all those poor men suffering in silence for all these years with that certain shortcoming. The shame and humiliation probably became so painful that it drove a few of them to drink. So much so that maybe one guy suffered a funny little problem with his liver. But what's a little liver condition when the mailman just delivered his first package of Extenze. Halleluia! The babes will soon come running! (Frantically tearing the cardboard off with his bare hands – tears of joy rolling down his face). "Oh man - science is just so freakin' awesome. Maybe I better read about these side effects, I'm sure they're nothing to worry about – let's see . . . " It just strikes me as a tad strange that every one of these new medical breakthrough drugs from Ambien to Zyrtec will improve the quality of everybody's life except those poor buggers with Liver problems. I'll tell you "one" thing, I'd like to be the scientist who patents the drug that cures all these liver problems. "Liverol just one tablet daily and you can take all the damn drugs you want." "Liverol – because life is too short to skimp on the drugs." Don't take Liverol if you're afraid of the dark, if you think you might be pregnant or if you have wee little pecker.

It occurred to me the other day as I was tossing my cell phone out the window of my truck that I've actually never published a bad word about cellular culture. Mostly, I guess - because I've managed to stay so far away from it. My cousin taught me to text, once, but I'm sure I've forgotten how by now. I don't have a BFF and, knock on wood, I've yet to be kidnapped by Muslim extremists, and found it necessary to communicate by means any more covert than that outmoded contraption I call my voice box. I get text messages my wife tells me, but I don't understand how to retrieve them. I once actually saw one zipping by in progress I suppose, but it went by pretty fast and seemed to lack vowels. Trust me I think it's cool that people desire to communicate with me by whatever means, I don't even mind a good "flipping off" on occasion – keeps the driving skills polished, but I've now been given a brand new cell phone just when I finally figured out how to dial out on my old one. Now when my wife unsuccessfully attempts to instruct me as to how to locate and listen to messages on my new purple Moto, she assumes I'm just being cute, or difficult on purpose, when in truth I'm simply demonstrating my innate stupidity. People assume that, just because I can occasionally arrange a group of multi-syllable words together in an amusing sentence that I'm smart. This is an assumption rife with fallacy. To be quite honest, when it comes to technology, I'm stupid as hell. You can call it challenged if you prefer, but I'm fine with stupid. It's quite underrated - stupidity. It has a tendancy to lower people's expectations and it's really quite relaxing. Hell, I know altogether too much crap as it is. My TV is defined enough, I don't need Tivo to figure out which shows I might like and no, I can't figure out how to get a VCR to freakin' record. What's more I don't trust people who can.

My new cell phone is just a mystery to me and since I resist my wife's efforts to teach me its ways, she sets me up with these really gay power ballad ringtones as revenge and sends me out into the world terribly ill-equipped to deal. Taking this phone around with me is like going some place with a really obnoxious foreign guy who doesn't speak my language. I'm taking some classes, and my wife slips the phone deep in my backpack then waits until I'm in class, then calls me. Next thing I know "I'm too sexy for my pants" is blasting out from under my seat and I gotta thrash through every nook and cranny of my junk strewn bag and even though I'm desperately groping for it, I don't really want to find it because then I'll just open the damn thing up and start pecking away at it like some kind of spastic jackass on steroids. "Shut up Moto, just please shut up! I hate you! Shut up!"

Texting is the one thing I just don't get. Why type if you can just talk? I mean if this were 1848 and you lived in Fillmore and your cousin lived in Arkansas and somehow you both had access to a telegraph - there would have been no cooler thing in the world. "Cousin Malachi when are you making the trek? <stop> Soon I think. What's going on? <stop> OMG Grandma was eaten alive by a mountain lion. <stop> Whatever <stop> Seriously – Parley saw it happen and shot Mountain Lion <stop> Tell me you didn't eat Mountain Lion? <stop> Whaddaya think – we got a Denny's in Fillmore – of course we ate it. Tasted like chicken. <stop> That's just messed up. <stop> Hello, it's winter we're starving. You'll see. Say, when does your company head out? What's their name again? <stop> The Donners. Solid outfit - well equipped party, youngest daughter very tasty! <stop>