Chunnel Of Love

Dear Dr. Zack,

Please help me settle an argument with my girlfriend. We agree that the two sure signs of life are irritability and the ability to reproduce. She says a man who can’t get it up might as well be dead. I say he’s just irritable. You decide.

Signed, Anonymous, Hawaii

 

Dear Anonymous,

The current obsession with “getting it up” is hard to take and even more difficult to swallow. You can’t turn on the radio without being bombarded by adverts beseeching you to stay harder than the roll bar in Charlie Bronson’s cherried out Bronco. Harder than a Patrick Willis forearm to the earhole. Harder than the tombstone of the Unknown Soldier.

Can’t you get it through your soft skull? Everything changed when the people who hate our freedoms attacked our freedoms and made our freedoms feel insecure and ashamed, just like what happens to all of us after sex (and after you’ve made bail). Put your finger on my trigger and pull, baby! This isn’t a sensitive bout of top-secret lovemaking, it’s an orgy of chemically induced patriotism!

Who was responsible for 9/11? A 6’5” Arab hooked up to a dialysis machine and living in an Afghan cave. And not just any cave, but a cavernous crypt of fleshy sorrows; a catacomb of Burkhas and blue balls; a grotto of perversion and outdated CIA bomb-making manuals. (But thank Allah that Saudi Arabia doesn’t let women operate automobiles; the fairer sex can be trusted with child rearing and keeping the barn clean, but heaven forbid they take daddy’s Ferrari out for a spin during Ramadan.)

It gives me delicious pleasure to say, Mr. Anonymous that your girlfriend exhibits symptoms typical of Election Year Monsanto Syndrome, which the Rand Corp. and the Democratic Central Committee define as “the profit-driven superstition that all fruits, vegetables and breaths of fresh air benefit from a hypodermic needle full of GMOs.”

In other words, she wants to be wrapped in a flag of striped and sensuous silk stitched together with starry nights full of clumsy groping and rash post-coital pizza decisions. (Woe to the naïve man who fails in his faux-conjugal duties then requests a pepperoni or meat-lover’s pie afterwards.)

Your girlfriend doesn’t want to merely roll in the hay, she wants to be FrankenFuqued™! And it’s the new monster-sized dirty dance sensation that sweeping the Albion Nation. Occasionally leading to elation. And rhyming with but not necessarily equal to masturbation.

Finally, Captain Aloha, the person masquerading as your “girlfriend” is obviously a government plant of some kind, a banana palm in nylons and broken stilettos. And likely a nympho harlot to boot.  Can I get her number?

 

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Dear Dr. Zack,

The Day the Penis asked for a Raise.

I, the Penis, hereby request a raise in salary for the following reasons:

I do physical labor.

I work at great depths.

I plunge headfirst into everything I do.

I do not get weekends or public holidays off.

I work in a damp environment.

I work in a dark workplace that has poor ventilation.

I work in high temperatures.

My work exposes me to contagious diseases.

Sincerely,

P. Niss

The Deepend, Navarro

 

Dear Mr. P. Niss:

After assessing your request, and considering the arguments you have raised, Blue Cross/Blue Shield rejects your medical request for the following reasons:

You do not work 8 hours straight.

You fall asleep after brief work periods.

You do not always follow the orders of the management team.

You do not stay in your designated area and are often seen visiting other locations.

You do not take initiative; you need to be pressured and stimulated in order to start working.

You leave the workplace rather messy at the end of your shift.

You don’t always observe necessary safety regulations, such as wearing the correct protective clothing.

You will retire well before you are 65.

You are unable to work double shifts.

You sometimes leave your designated work area before you have completed the assigned task.

And if that were not all, you have been seen constantly entering and exiting the workplace carrying two suspicious-looking bags.

Sincerely,

V. Gina (temporarily [pardon the pun] filling in for Dr. Zack, who is en route to the South Indian Ocean as part of the Black Box recovery team.)