Note: Dearly Beloved would like to disassociate himself entirely from this post, so I’m not even going to mention his name.
With the swine flu scare already out there, I hate to push another alarm button but Mother’s Day is upon us, so here’s a little shout-out warning, Sister-friend: Be careful what you wish for!
The major television networks offer zilch that I care about watching and Monk and The Closer are hiatus-ing, so I have relinquished any claim on the remote control until further notice. That means ESPN and the Golf Channel drone incessantly around here. With luck I can tune them out and read or knit unless someone (unmentioned, of course) is screaming, “OH NO!!” or “Watch this shot!”
It was during these outbursts that I began paying attention to who is sponsoring all this sports stuff. If you’ve been thinking it’s Callaway who is wanting to sell your husband a Big Bertha, guess again.
Believe me, I’m not meaning to “diss” erectile dysfunction. Your mister got it? Send him to a doctor. But all those hours of commercials…? Holy crap! They’re enough to screw with anyone’s mind.
It’s bad enough that ED medications sponsor anything with balls. The commercials run with that droning threat (they call it a warning) of the four-hour erection… do we really picture some guy boinking blissfully away for 3 hours and 59 minutes? Most likely, The Little Woman will have bonked HIM with a bat of her own well before that countdown, making the four-hour erection only a secondary issue for the attending ER team.
(The whole warning thing…doesn’t it just give you the shivers? It brings to mind that immortal quotation by “the lovely Ms. Mona Lisa Vito” in My Cousin Vinny: “Oh my God, what a f*>@ing nightmare!”)
The latest pharmaceutical entry on the market, unnamed here lest Google direct a pack of pickled peckers my way, purports not only to raise Mr. Johnson to attention, but to give him added …um, stature. Are they serious? Who WORKS in these places? Shouldn’t finding a cure for cancer have been on the list before they began research on this? Who insisted, “No, no! First we need to take a crack at enlarging our wee-wees into woo-woos!”
Just think of the old farts in rocking chairs who might now be wanting to hang a Grand Re-opening sign on their zippers. Forget the doctor’s prescription; this one should require a permission slip from old momma.
Many guys consider medication “unmanly” so I suppose the drug companies needed something to break that taboo. What better than enhancing the very essence of their manhood to get them kicking their heels and jumping the fence! ? Clever marketing, indeed. And to reassure the old coots about the missus’s reaction, the commercials always include a demurely smiling woman next to the man, stroking his arm.
If men don’t read maps and don’t ask for directions, can they be trusted to read the instructions for the package? What if they subscribe to the old “if one is good, two is twice as good” theory..philosophy gone amok. Things could get ugly. Really ugly.
Now if this sounds like Better Living Through Chemistry and you are thinking, “Whoa! I gotta get me some of that,” then you go, Girl! Father’s Day is coming up next and you could always crush one in his Grape Nuts to re-direct that fiber and give him a big surprise. But if you’re hearing an alarm bell here, Sister-friend, look out. If he says he has something big for you this Mother’s Day, ask him if it’s something he thinks you’ll both enjoy.
If he says yes. . . and wouldn’t they all. . .
Pray for a flat-screen tv.
Thanks to Mary Ferraci (Mary’s View) for this horny toad.