What Happened

What happened? You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened!! One day I’m looking in the mirror and I have no idea who the fuck is looking back at me. He could be Chinese for all I could recognize about him. I mean to tell you he was old. Not Strom Thurmond old, but well past his prime if you know what I mean. And he had the goddamnedest expression on his face. He looked like a dog wondering how the hell the cat got up on the kitchen counter.

Then it hit me. That son-of-a-bitch was me. Talk about shocked. I felt like I’d been kicked in the bread basket by a dyspeptic mule. And what’s with the hair? It seems I’ve hit the Daily Double, receding hairline and a bald spot? Worst of all, I didn’t actually lose the hair. No, it just migrated to my fucking ears. Maybe that’s why my hearing sucks.

Speaking of sucking. My current girlfriend really knows how to give a good blow job. I mean she can suck the chrome off a trailer hitch. But lately it’s like trying to raise the dead. I look down and I swear it looks like she’s slurpping up overcooked penne. Scratch that. It just feels like limp penne. I haven’t actually seen my dick without looking in a mirror since Namath was chucking ‘em for the Jets. Yeah, and it’s not a whole lot of fun to be drilling for oil with a Dodger dog either. Oh, I get hard alright, but my dick seems to have the attention span of a roadrunner on coke. “There it is, quick, put it in, put it in! Hmmm, I must remember to buy some Half and Half.” Bada bing, bada no bang, and that’s all she wrote folks! Goodbye hard-on, hello ESPN.

Next day I’m talking to a young thing who works for my doctor. Drop fucking dead gorgeous, and real or not, she’s got tits out to Bakersfield, and they’re always saluting in case a flag walks by. “What’s the problem?” she asks, smiling. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if my dick went limp last night, it’s positively AWOL now. “Well sweetheart, I’m not going to beat around the bush, because that’s all I could do last night.” “I don’t get it,” she says. “Neither do I,” I reply. Nothing, not even a chuckle. Long on legs, short on brains sits there waiting for the light to go on. “What he means,” chimes in an old fat broad leaning on her walker, is that he can’t get it up.” -- and I swear I can hear those words echoing down, if not every canyon, then certainly the long hall of my doc’s office and into every exam room where my buddies and my ex all happen to be here at the same time for their check-ups. Can it possibly get any worse than this??? You bet your ass it can!!