Monday, July 28, 2008

Lay down their bandanas and complain

I masturbated today and it was glorious.

You’re probably asking yourself: “Why would Sex Mahoney, a semi-virile, young man, with an attractive wife announce, as glorious, such a pedestrian event?”

Well, for the last few weeks, my wife’s sister has been staying at our apartment, and my apartment only has two rooms, the bedroom and the bathroom; the conflux of these two unfortunate circumstances has me curtailing my regularly scheduled autoerotic activities.

Once, I snuck into the bathroom with my laptop to see if I could squeeze out a quick one, but my wife popped in. Some of my female friends recommend that I pop into the shower and do it there, but, as my male readers will attest, masturbating in the shower is only one step up from drunkenly feeling up your own grandmother at your sister’s wedding on the sadness scale. Not only that, but, the masturbator is often the same person who has to unclog a mass of his coagulated semen and hair from the shower drain at some indeterminate time in the future.

So, during the last two weeks, for the first time in my adult life, I haven’t been able to masturbate.

Sure, there have been other times when masturbation wasn’t an option. While backpacking around Europe, I couldn’t sneak away to whack off; plus, I spent most of my time in hostel dorm bunk beds with anywhere between two and ten other people. The first time I tried, everyone got a little uncomfortable, especially when I asked a pair of college aged women from Michigan to kiss each other a little.

This masturbatory dry spell has been unique in several ways.

For one, I am in my own home with all of my favorite pornography just lying around waiting to be watched; unfortunately, my wife’s sister is a little uptight about sitting around and ogling ‘Baker’s Dozen,’ a porn series in which one girl takes on twelve men.

Which brings me to today.

After spending two weeks as a virtual prisoner in my own home, my wife and her sister left me alone for two days to go down to Busan.

Not only can I now whack off with impunity, but I don’t have to constantly worry about keeping my boxer’s fly buttoned shut for fear of phallic floppage.

Yes, I like to walk around my house with my penis and ball hanging out. You have a problem with that?

Shortly after cleaning myself off, I realized that this, my empty apartment, is what life will be like after my wife wizens up and dumps my loser ass.

It wasn’t that bad.

Then again, I only experienced twenty minutes of it before I had to leave for work; so, there might be some crying when I do it again tonight.

Then again, I might just like it so much that I change the door code to my apartment.

It’s not that I don’t love my wife, she’s a great lady: I’ve never met anyone who could fit that many marbles in her mouth, and she’s the only person I know who had the strength and courage to put up with a guy a like me.

Still, there are times when I find myself wishing that I was single, so I could eat dinner standing over the sink, never wash or change my underwear, and make dirty, late-night calls to phone numbers I find scribbled on bathroom walls without having to worry about waking anyone.

Like so many people out there, I’m never happy with what I have until I’ve fucked it up so bad that it takes out a restraining order against me and I never see it again except through a pair of binoculars.

I suppose that, if I ever do run for president, then I will probably need to have a wife, since even Ben Franklin couldn’t pull that one off, and he got off easy by having his wife die. It’s much sloppier when you have to show up in court and your wife’s attorney reads all those text messages you sent to her attractive friends.

Then again, if America is ready to elect a black president, who is also a secret Muslim, then perhaps they’re ready for a bachelor president. One who will show up at press conferences with strange smelling women they met online in a Battlestar Galactica forum and introduce the nation to his creepy mother, in whose basement he recently lived before moving to the White House.

In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy these two whack filled days while I can, and, if she asks you, just tell my wife’s sister that her pillowcase is so stiff because I accidentally put cornstarch in the washing machine.

Sex Mahoney for President

Currently listening to:

Highway 61 Revisited
by Bob Dylan
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