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“Joe. My point is really a question. What if? What if penis is man’s rocket to the moon so to speak. Or to Mars. Or to Jupiter. I’m speaking metaphorically of course but stay with me. Because metaphors explain the undertones of reality, especially when the science is not yet feasible. Or even explainable. My theory is that throughout history, the concept of space has really been built on the longing and distant quest for a woman’s vagina. The vagina of now, one might say. The manhole of the universe.”
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 Only respect for Eric Weinstein. Simply satire. “As I enter her moist rotunda, I feel deep gratitude that I have taken it upon myself to be with her. Here. Within this particular sphere of existence. In the mud of her vagina, I become earth. What treasures will nature offer me? That depends on how long I last in the jungle. Will I seek temporary deprivation in order to last longer and, finally, at a moments notice, rain on her forest like a force of nature? In the gemstones of her mind, I am the universe. In the swirl of my urethra, she is the conductor. Drawing out my moist, viscous pleasure. Prodding me to scream victoriously. While I do enjoy it, I must temper my pleasure like an iron rod of honor. For my arousal is but a pin drop in the symphony that is our sex. The timpani is pounding and my thunderous trombone wants to belt out its own tune but I refrain. I prolong the dance with hushed silence. Capping off my spout with thoughts of sports and science. But just when the time is right. Victorious symbiosis. I cement my manhood on her belly. And now I sing.”
 “Jerry, I just don't know! I tried doing the opposite of everything I know and it worked once. We went to the diner and instead of my usual chicken sandwich on rye and coffee I went with tuna and tea and met that woman. We only made it to second base! You know what! I'm doing double opposite George, Jerry!” George storms out the apartment and runs into Newman in the hallway and the mailbag spills everywhere. They start screaming at each other but George doubles down on his idea. He says "Newman I hate your guts, but a Double Opposite George now wants your nuts." They go back to Newman's and things get wild. After the encounter, George runs back to Jerry's apartment with his hair all messed up and the gang is all there. Kramer says "Wow George, you really look like a new man!"
*Cue bass guitar*  “To that woman at the park offering her man fat-free cheese on whole grain bread: How dare you?”
“To the man trying to lose weight that asked for the check before his friends could order dessert: You should be ashamed.” “Where dinner falls short for men everywhere: I’ll be there.” “If I see a real bitch say he’s only getting salad, I’ll be there to order him nachos with extra sour cream.” “If I see a wife close the menu on him when you know he wants dessert, expect 10 scoops and whipped cream to be coming his way.” “Some say I’m a hero. Some say I’m a god. I call it ice cream social justice.” “Of course I could eat the whole pie but everybody deserves a slice of it. That’s why I eat before dinner.”  Oh hey. Thanks for having good taste. This was written by a wasted member of our team. Take it with a grain of salt and maybe a bit of grain as some of it appears to be senseless. Enjoy.
Satire: John Goodman and The Gay Men Roseanne gets high on sleeping pills, and it doesn't matter if you're naughty or nice. She starts attacking everyone, lashing out anyway she can. He decides he can fit down any chimney with Santa attire. So he plumes a neighborhood chimney and gets stuck. It's a disaster. He didnt know, but this house is a gay sex orgy cult. They start licking and lubing his asshole up and down. He finally slides down covered in spit. He says "I'm a good man, but now I'm a Gay man!"  That Was My Tonight by Goth Brooks
Verse 1: “I’m a starving artist. I make art not to please, but to disease. I’m a glance of time in a sea of darkness. Go on babe, I’ll shut the door myself.” Chorus: “I stuck my dick in a pie! Cus she said goodbye. I know I started to cry! But it felt right. That was my tonight!” “That was my tonight!” “Go on babe.” “That was my tonight!” Verse 2: “Feelings of apple. Sugar and whipped cream. Better than your love. The one that left me. Now I feel like a mess. The one that you left. Go on babe. I’ll shut the door myself.” Chorus “I stuck my dick in a pie! Cus she said goodbye. I know I started to cry! But it felt right. That was my tonight!” “That was my tonight!” “Go on babe.” “That was my tonight!” Only Satire. Not endorsed by or affiliated with Amazon. Al: “Peggy. You know I work for a living. I have enough women bothering me all day to not need you spreading your legs every damn day. I’m just trying to watch cops and eat a sandwich.”
Al opens his pants and takes a big bite of a giant sandwich Peggy: “Well then. Do something about it big boy.” Al: “Peggy. What do you want me to... Wait a moment.” Al goes into deep thought in a dream-like focus Al thinks to himself: “That pansy down the road that offers his wife to fat guys. He found the secret to life. That’s my way out!” Al comes back to reality and the image of his turned-on wife disturbs him. He shakes noticeably at the look of her. Al: “Peggy. I’ve got it. I’m a cuck. That’s who I am. You’re gonna have to get used to it.” Peggy: “Al you’re not fooling me. I’ve never seen you get aroused by other men looking at me.” Al realizes that he better sound convincing or his plan might be ruined. Al: “Peggy. Nothing gets me more turned on than the thought of watching another man romp with you in our bed. I can barely hold the excitement. I’m gonna have to go sit down and eat before I get too hot.” Al takes a bite of his sandwich while fantasizing about drinking beer in his underwear in peace while his wife is being distracted by someone else.  “It was 6:30 in the morning and I was navigating a stormy sea of milk in a frosty bowl of Raisin Bran. Life is what you make it, not what you’re given. ‘Don’t eat the raisins!’ I screamed to myself as I avoided every last one of those sweet icebergs. ‘Keep going’, I whispered into the bowl as I chewed fiercely through the fiber of war. Another crunch. Another munch. It sounded like thunder and sodomy. Yet, just a typical day for a savage like myself. This is not pasta. This is real life. This is bran. Not only did I have to dodge the floating raisins but waves of milk were on the horizon. At one point, my spoon moved too aggressively and a platoon of milk spilled over the side of the bowl. The table was a casualty I had to accept. Victory was still within my grasp as
I held the dry side of the bowl and drank the milk straight, filtering out all raisins that seeked entry with my clenched teeth. I added more sugar to weather the storm. Anything to give a glimpse of hope. It worked. A smile returned to my face. ‘I can do this!’ I pleaded to myself. A drop of milk landed on my cheek from the air. Ah! Enemy fire. In a fleeting moment of weakness, I had the thought of surrender. That faded quickly like flatulence during a hike. ‘I will not be a turncoat!’ I scowled into the brisk air. My instincts kicked in. I needed back up. Grabbing another spoon, I double fisted bran and milk into my face. Not stopping until victory emerged. Sensing the battle was over, I stopped and looked at what was left of the war zone. A bowl of milk bogged raisins. This is what men are made of, I thought to myself. I’m not just a man though. I am a conqueror. I stuck to my word and no raisins were consumed. Savage yes. But one with morality. That is I. To all the onlookers that think this was easy, let it be known that humble men make difficult tasks look like eating cake. And this certainly was not cake. I leave you today with this poignant bit of wisdom: Some joke about crying over spilled milk, but they have not seen the face of war. Be well.” |
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