mind expanding nonsense

Posts tagged ‘cialis’

Reptile Dysfunction Redux

Does anybody read the crap lost in the Archives, you know, the stuff that’s two to three months old. I thought so. The answer is No. And that’s a good thing. It means I can recycle some of my earlier stuff and nobody will know.

Having a blog is sorta like being in a band. At the beginning of a group, there’s a lot of energy and creativity. A lot of good stuff is cranked out for the first two, maybe three albums, them Zippo. A Greatest Hits album, then obscurity. The juices stop flowing, and it’s a regurgitation of now worn out lyrics. I mean, how long can a group of young men angrily scream about how they’re not getting laid, in a thrash metal band, before one of them actually does get laid, and comes to the conclusion that he much more prefers Barry White to punk music, because he gets more action with Barry than black n blue in some damn mosh-pit listening to the Misfits or Some Other Trash (not an actual band).

So I’m gonna re-lay some Solid Gold on ya, about Reptile Dysfunction. Now this is a delicate subject for a limp lizard is embarrassing. But not embarrassing enough to advertise the shit out of remedies for this affliction. And, there’s nothing better than stories about wee-wees turning into WEE-WEES.

A few years ago there started to appear on television, really ambiguous commercials featuring older couples longingly looking at each other with sappy looks on their faces, who ended up in separate bathtubs out in the country or at the end of a pier. Now I wasn’t paying much attention back then, and thought I heard them talking about Reptile Dysfunction. That didn’t make much sense to me cause I didn’t see any lizards or anything. But then I found out that they weren’t talking about reptile dysfunction but Erectile Dysfunction, or E D. Now that made more sense, cause  I wasn’t seein’ any snakes, and apparently, neither was she.

It now appears, at least from the number of ED spots on the evening news, that there is an epidemic of us old dinosaurs with limp lizards that just can’t raise our ding dongs: old guys begin’ for a boner, wishing for a woodie, suffering from lack of stiffies, or just plain hankerin’ for a hard on. I wonder what’s the cause of this ailment? How could something that worked so wonderfully as a teenager, peter out on ya late in life? Maybe it’s those sixty plus hours a week ya work, the pressure to put kids through college, maxing out your 401K. Or maybe it just gets down to this: after 30 years, how many more times can ya keep hitting that same thing???

Now most of these commercials are really stupid in their attempt to be more metaphorical than real. I like the Ciallis for daily use commercials. Show me a 50 year old guy that needs that for “daily” use, and I’ll show you a guy who ain’t married or in a long—term relationship. So what do these couples do when that romantic moment hits, like when cleaning out the garage or doing the laundry? Get naked and do it?? Flop her over a sawhorse and do it doggie style? Hell No!! That would be just awful. No, it’s a leisurely romantic stroll before anything meaningful starts.

Or the two folks in them separate bathtubs? How the hell you gonna do the big nasty in separate tubs? They need to get their butts in a hot tub; glass of wine; a little Barry white playing in the background. Togetherness, NOT separate tubs.


Got My Mojo Workin’

I got my Mojo workin’, an it sure gonna work on you.” You just gotta love them old blues songs, this one by Muddy Waters, cause not only are they laden with sexual innuendo and imagery, but are jam packed with a big dose of sexual energy. Now I’ll leave it up to your imagination as to how Muddy’s Mojo might work on you. But rest assured that you’ll either end up achy and bruised all over, or the most satisfied person on Earth.  Either way, walking may be difficult for a few days thereafter.

Sadly, not all folks got their Mojos working these days. Shit is stressing some of us out. And this is even happening in the African American community. Why just the other night I saw this commercial on TV featuring a Black middle aged couple, who suddenly found themselves in an intimate situation while folding clothes, and a special moment arose. Unfortunately that was the only thing that rose, cause this guy apparently had erectile dysfunction. But not to worry, he had taken some Cialis, and his Mojo was gonna work just fine.

Now here’s when things started getting a little weird, and made me re-think the whole notion of watching TV while stoned. Instead of letting nature take it’s course right then and there as Muddy’s Mojo would, this Cialis stuff makes ya get a little kinky. Cause the next thing ya see, and I shit you not, is our couple up in a hot air balloon making goo goo eyes at each other as they float off into the horizon.

Now I’ve heard of the fabled ‘Mile High Club’, but I never believed in it. Maybe it’s different in first class, but the thought of doing the Big Nasty in an economy class airplane bathroom is just plain disgusting in my opinion. Those planes are filthy, especially after everyone on board’s had a few drinks. But balling in a balloon…Hmmm. Maybe it’s a “black thing” as Pat Robertson would say. Something affluent Blacks enjoy doing.  Wonder if Herman Cain’s ever done it? And with who?

I don’t know what got me on to this subject. Must be  the influence of all them liberal bloggers I’ve been following of late. Talk about filthy minds. But hey.  This ain’t about sex. It’s about me working in retirement, again. So instead of having my Mojo working, this post should read “I got my ancient ass working on a massive drunk driving caseload in the Probation Department (yet again) and it gonna be workin’ on you if ya drink and drive.” You see, after two weeks off for the holidays, and a move of my unit to a different location, I’m back fighting crime again. And the love/hate relationship begins anew. Love, because I like the easy money, and hate, because I’m soo done with probation work, even on a part-time basis. But damn, the money is good, and 8 to 12 hours a week. Well…..

I hate being a social liberal, but financial conservative. Financially, the only thing I want “occupied” is my bank account filled with as many digits as possible. The thing is, an erotic balloon ride sounds really sweet to my liberal side. But my conservative side says,that’s a lot of money, you should be paying down debt; maybe just lighting a candle in the laundry room would do just as well. Then the bureaucrat  in me steps in and says, Anyway, there’s a chance one of us may fall out of the balloon basket while ‘enjoying’ the view. I can’t win.

The bottom line is, all this working stuff is not only interfering with my passions, but it’s also cutting into my blogging time. So I thought I’d share this little dilemma. Hey. That’s what blogging is all about, ain’t it?   Or just maybe, it’s all about attitude and how ya look at things.  Christmas is just around the corner; and my adult children do have expensive tastes.  So it’s off to Santa’s Workshop.  I gotta go and get my Mojo workin’.


Reptile Dysfunction Redux

Does anybody read the crap lost in the Archives, you know, the stuff that’s two to three months old. I thought so. The answer is No. And that’s a good thing. It means I can recycle some of my earlier stuff and nobody will know.

Having a blog is sorta like being in a band. At the beginning of a group, there’s a lot of energy and creativity. A lot of good stuff is cranked out for the first two, maybe three albums, them Zippo. A Greatest Hits album, then obscurity. The juices stop flowing, and it’s a regurgitation of now worn out lyrics. I mean, how long can a group of young men angrily scream about how they’re not getting laid, in a thrash metal band, before one of them actually does get laid, and comes to the conclusion that he much more prefers Barry White to punk music, because he gets more action with Barry than black n blue in some damn mosh-pit listening to the Misfits or Some Other Trash (not an actual band).

So I’m gonna re-lay some Solid Gold on ya, about Reptile Dysfunction. Now this is a delicate subject for a limp lizard is embarrassing. But not embarrassing enough to advertise the shit out of remedies for this affliction.

A few years ago there started to appear on television, really ambiguous commercials featuring older couples longingly looking at each other with sappy looks on their faces, who ended up in separate bathtubs out in the country or at the end of a pier. Now I wasn’t paying much attention back then, and thought I heard them talking about Reptile Dysfunction. That didn’t make much sense to me cause I didn’t see any lizards or anything. But then I found out that they weren’t talking about reptile dysfunction but Erectile Dysfunction, or E D. Now that made more sense, cause  I wasn’t seein’ any snakes, and apparently, neither was she.

It now appears, at least from the number of ED spots on the evening news, that there is an epidemic of us old dinosaurs with limp lizards that just can’t raise our ding dongs: old guys begin’ for a boner, wishing for a woodie, suffering from lack of stiffies, or just plain hankerin’ for a hard on. I wonder what is the cause of this ailment? How could something that worked so wonderfully as a teenager, peter out on ya late in life? Maybe it’s those sixty plus hours a week ya work, the pressure to put kids through college, maxing out your 401K. Or maybe it just gets down to this: after 30 years, how many more times can ya keep hitting that thing???

Now most of these commercials are really stupid in their attempt to be more metaphorical than real. I like the Ciallis for daily use commercials. Show me a 50 year old guy that needs that for “daily” use, and I’ll show you a guy who ain’t married or in a long—term relationship. So what do these couples do when that romantic moment hits, like when cleaning out the garage or doing the laundry? Get naked and do it?? Flop her over a sawhorse and do it doggie style? Hell No!! That would be just awful. No, it’s a leisurely romantic stroll before anything meaningful starts.

Or the two folks in them separate bathtubs? How the hell you gonna do the big nasty in separate tubs? They need to get their butts in a hot tub; glass of wine; a little Barry white playing in the background. Togetherness, NOT separate tubs.


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