Please excuse the risque title of today’s repost. I probably shouldn’t repost it, because it’s kind of in poor taste. I’m having some trouble coming up with a good topic, though, and I noticed this funny song parody I did in 2018. This post is as/is, so imagine it’s June 29, 2018, instead of 2023.
I could write about how pissed off I am at Donald Trump right now… but that’s kind of an ongoing condition that waxes and wanes but never completely goes away. No… after yesterday’s moody post, I think today, I’m going to try to be funny. I’ll probably fail, although I’m fairly likely to offend. Oh well.
Yesterday, I decided to make some music on SingSnap. It was my first day back after a ten day hiatus that was started, in part, because I was getting hit on by some guy who tried to flatter me by telling me he thinks I’m “hot”… probably says that about every female with a pulse. Another reason why I decided not to do any music is because for the past ten days or so, there have been road workers tearing up our street. I don’t like to make music when there are people outside the window. It makes me self-conscious. Also, I don’t like the sound of jackhammers on my recordings.
The street isn’t even in particularly bad condition, but Germans repair everything on a timeline. It’s time to repave the street, so that’s what they’re doing right now. For the past two days, there’s been a trench at the end of our driveway. Good thing I didn’t need to drive anywhere. They did fix it last night.
Anyway, the construction workers weren’t around for most of yesterday, so I decided it was time to make some music. I recorded a whole bunch of songs. And as I was scrolling through the featured country songs yesterday, I happened to read too fast. I saw Conway Twitty’s song, “I’d Love to Lay You Down” followed by Shenandoah’s “I’ll Go Down Loving You”. I looked at the two titles too quickly and did a double take, because it looked like there was a song on the list called “I’d Love to Go Down On You”. I know song titles are more risque these days, but that seemed pretty over the top. Then, I had a good laugh… because can you imagine the lyrics? Naturally, I next saw that as a challenge.
Bill took our dogs to Uncle Max’s because we’re going to stay in downtown Stuttgart this weekend. The Rolling Stones are playing tomorrow night and we have tickets on the 13th row. I have a feeling that by the end of the show, we will not be in any condition to drive home. We decided to make a “staycation” weekend out of it. We’ll go out to dinner tonight, see the concert tomorrow, and come home on Sunday.
Meanwhile, I have to find some way to occupy my time before Bill finishes work and fetches me for our weekend in the big city… So, with that in mind, I think I’ll write another one of my famous song parodies. Here goes.
Here are the original lyrics to Adam Sandler’s masterpiece…
I wanna make you smile whenever you’re sad Carry you around when your arthritis is bad All I wanna do is grow old with you
I’ll get your medicine when your tummy aches Build you a fire if the furnace breaks Oh, it could be so nice, growing old with you
I’ll miss you Kiss you Give you my coat when you are cold
Need you Feed you Even let you hold the remote control
So let me do the dishes in our kitchen sink Put you to bed when you’ve had too much to drink Oh, I could be the man who grows old with you I wanna grow old with you
And here are my gross revamped lyrics… (Just so you know, I’ve never actually done this. I’m about as conventional as they come when it comes to coming.)
I wanna make you grin when your balls are blue.
Help you sleep when there’s too much to do.
All I wanna do… is go down on you.
I’ll give you lots of love when your stress is high…
Sit back, relax, I’ll unzip your fly…
Oh, it could be so nice, going down on you.
I’ll bless you
Massage you when your manhood’s limp.
Even pretend that you’re my pimp…
So let me climb across your sexy bod…
Bow down to your stiffened rod…
Oh I could be the girl… who goes down on you..
I’d love to go down on you.
Bill’s birthday is July 7th. I suppose I could give him this for his birthday and make all his dreams *cum* true… (see what I did there?) But knowing me, it’ll be just another boring day in paradise. Apologies to anyone who now needs brain bleach.
Edited to add in 2023: I wouldn’t actually do this, because I’m about as sexy as a box of cotton swabs. I just have a really dirty mind sometimes. I did actually record a version of my parody for SingSnap, but they changed their recording system, so I can’t repost my version of the song. I’d do it for YouTube, but I have a feeling they’d just restrict it to adults. Maybe I’ll make a video of it just for my blog… We’ll see.
Here it is…
The original post was pretty well received… Here are the comments.
AlexisARJune 29, 2018 at 6:14 PMI’m supposed to meet up with my ultra-conservative charismatic Catholic godmother as soon as she finishes what she has to do at the county courthouse in relation to some property their business is buying.. I will share your lyrics to freak her out.
We’re going to San Jose to pick up cupcakes for my cousin’s baby shower. Then I am catching a plane to Canada.
VajraJuly 3, 2018 at 4:29 AMI love mondegreens. My favorite is “a half an enchilada and you think you’re going to drown” rather than John Prine’s “half an inch of water and you think you’re going to drown”. Kudos for the entire song. heh heh heh
I’m running short on ideas today, and I’m feeling a bit silly. I ran across this post from October 2018 on my original blog. It’s a ridiculous story idea I had back then involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk. I used to write a lot of fiction stories to pass the time, as well as to creatively express myself when people got on my nerves. I don’t write much fiction these days, but since these two posts made me laugh, I’ve decided to share them today. I doubt anyone will read them, but at least they won’t cause controversy.
An erotic story involving Pernell Roberts, Howard Keel, and Mr. Yuk… (originally written October 10, 2018)
I’m sure I could find any number of outrageous news stories to rant about today. I will probably do just that in a little while. It’s just that I’ve noticed my blog is not as much fun as it has been in the past. I’ve been dealing with a little depression and anxiety lately, which has had a noticeable effect on my writing.
Yesterday, I had a random idea of writing a fiction story about the late actor, Pernell Roberts. I know him best from his years as Trapper John, M.D., but other people remember him from Bonanza. I remember he also starred in a Lassie movie back in 1978. In that film, he played a bad guy.
Sexy Pernell Roberts… there was a time when my dad could sing sort of like this. I can appreciate it now, but didn’t so much when I was growing up. Pernell Roberts had a lovely singing voice, though. Many people thought my dad had a lovely voice, too. He probably did and I just didn’t like it because of our fucked up father/daughter relationship. Oh… and the fact that he wasn’t trained.
I think Mr. Roberts is on my mind because I somehow wound up subscribed to a YouTube channel honoring him. Someone uploaded a bunch of episodes of Trapper John, M.D. and I started watching them last night because Bill is in Italy. He’ll be back tonight– it was just a one night trip– but I’ll still be alone until after bedtime. Maybe I’ll watch more Trapper John, M.D., or maybe I’ll make music. Who knows? Or maybe I’ll spend the day writing silly stories for those who enjoy my warped sense of humor.
Anyway, I noticed that a number of female commenters on the YouTube videos were saying they thought Pernell Roberts was “sexy”. I have to admit, now that I am myself middle aged, I agree that he was rather sexy in those days. Of course, Trapper John was a typically strong male character on the TV show. He was authoritarian, particularly with his female patients. Some women are turned on by a strong man who tells them to get in bed and stay there. Actor Gregory Harrison, who played hospital Lothario Gonzo Gates, was probably there for the younger crowd. Both of them were such caring dudes… and so skilled as they saved their patients from whatever devastating malady they had while romancing them under the sheets.
Then, as I started thinking about Pernell Roberts, I remembered the late actor Howard Keel and how he always reminded me of a horse peeing on a rock. I mean, he was really tall and probably made a lot of noise because of the length his whiz had to drop. I remember seeing him in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, which was filmed in the 1950s, when he was young and studly. But as a child of the 70s and 80s, I remember him best when he was on Dallas, playing Clayton Farlow. Maybe it was because all of the horses they used on that show and the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time around horses and know what they sound like when they pee… especially the geldings.
Damn… I would love to have a horse that did this! Cleaning up horse pee is no fun, especially when it’s hot outside.
The guy who officiated at my wedding, then a Presbyterian minister and now a Certified Nurse’s Aide and Catholic, asked me if my erotic story involving Pernell Roberts would involve surgical instruments or horses. And that just made me think of Howard Keel peeing on a rock again.
Oh my God… speaking of piss. This is probably one of the most cornball pop songs of the 1980s. What in the hell possessed Howard Keel to sing this over any one of the classic standards he did in his prime?
So then, just as I was gathering ideas about other things I could put in my erotic story, I caught this clip from 1988, starring the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. Front and center is current Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Director, Kelli Finglass, back when she was in her prime and still on the squad…
Finally, someone shared this picture of Brett Kavanaugh, who will always be a glorified frat boy to me…
And I was reminded of this… I wonder if Kavanaugh has ever made this face before having sex with someone. I wonder if anyone has ever made this face before having sex with him…
Wow… they could be brothers.
Maybe I should write a story involving all of these people. It wouldn’t even have to be erotic. I could probably have some fun with it, kill some time, and stay out of trouble. I do have a very strange mind sometimes, especially when I’m bored.
My latest book is about the East German police, so it’s probably just as well if I write some fiction or something, before I start having nightmares about the Stasi. Shit… I might as well do it.
And here it is…
Mr. Yuk gets a treatment he’ll never forget… (written later on October 10, 2018)
Let’s see where my warped imagination takes me… This story is pure fictional nonsense, pulled straight from the bowels of my mind. It took about an hour to write this and it probably shows.
It was an unseasonably cool, fall afternoon at San Francisco Memorial Hospital. The year was 1982. Dr. John McIntyre, otherwise known as Trapper, was looking dashing in his surgical scrubs, having just removed Clayton Farlow’s appendix. He was feeling pumped up, because he’d just told Farlow to go to bed and stay there. It gave Trapper a rush to tell people what to do, especially guys who were taller and more famous than he was.
Farlow was lying in bed, groaning because the incision where his appendix had been removed was a little itchy. But because Trapper was both authoritarian and a little kinky, he’d had Farlow’s wrists tied to the bedrails. It was only because Farlow was just coming out of the anesthesia and might try to monkey with the tubes and such.
“Don’t worry, Kid,” Trapper had told him as he tenderly adjusted Farlow’s oxygen mask, “we’ll untie your wrists when you have your wits more about you. I’ll be back later.”
Farlow grimaced as he watched his sexy doctor prance away. Farlow wasn’t into men sexually, but he’d been in show business longer than Trapper had and learned to appreciate the beauty in everything and everyone. Besides, whatever drugs Trapper had given him were wonderful, even if his incision was a little itchy.
For all of his fame on Broadway and primetime television, Farlow had not managed to score a private room. Lying in the bed next to his was a guy popularly known as Mr. Yuk. His name was actually Brett, though, and he was quite the whiny brat. Farlow cast a disapproving look at the young man– all of seventeen years old– lying in his hospital bed looking really disgruntled and bored. He looked like this…
Farlow wanted to ask Brett why he was so yucky. The boy had a constant scowl on his face, like he smelled something disgusting or had just walked in on his parents having sex. But the oxygen mask prevented Farlow from saying anything intelligible and he was embarrassed about his wrists being restrained. So Farlow remained curious while Brett clicked the remote control on the boxy TV, trying to find something interesting to watch. He finally stopped on a channel featuring a certain female collie named Lassie.
“Yeah…” Brett snarled. “This is more like it. I like watching bitches on TV.”
Farlow rolled his eyes as he recognized familiar faces… There was Mickey Rooney, Pernell Roberts, who looked a whole lot like Trapper, James Stewart, Alice Faye, and music by his old friends, Pat Boone and daughter, Debby. Good old fashioned, wholesome, kid friendly entertainment! It was just what the doctor ordered!
“I really could use a beer.” Brett snarled to himself. “Fuck being stuck in the hospital. This place sucks!”
Just then, a pretty nurse named Kelli came into the room. She was all smiles and had a figure that could stop traffic! Her hair was as big as her smile was, and Brett could see that her starched white nurse’s uniform was just a little shorter than it should have been. Casting his eyes downward, he could see the nurse’s adorable knees covered by her white tights. He looked at her shoes. They were sensible nurse’s shoes, showing that the woman was just as intelligent as she was sexy.
“Hello Mr. Farlow.” Kelli chirped as she checked his vital signs. She moved like a dancer, her catlike grace surprisingly apparent as she moved about the tight quarters, cleverly keeping her sweet ass away from Brett’s reach. “You’re looking much better today.” she said, checking his temperature. “Your fever is almost gone! Trapper will be happy to hear this! Yea!”
Farlow looked hopefully at his wrists, but the nurse didn’t seem to notice his distress. Instead, she adjusted the oxygen mask one last time and turned her attention to Mr. Yuk, aka Brett the brat.
“How are we feeling?” Nurse Kelli asked as she recorded Brett’s blood pressure.
“This place sucks. I have so many calendars I need to update. I need to get back to school. I’m missing so many keggers it’s not funny.” Brett whined. “I’m being held against my will.”
“I’m sure you’ll be out of here before you know it.” the nurse said. “You know, once you’re eighteen, you can check yourself out whenever you want. For now, we have to wait for the doctor and your parents to say it’s okay.”
Kelli turned away from Brett, who then took the opportunity to pinch her ass.
“Ouch!” Kelli yelped. “I see why they call you Mr. Yuk now!” she scolded as Brett’s face turned into that familiar scowl. “You really are a naughty boy. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”
“Stop trying to impugn my character.” Brett snapped.
“I’ll be back later.” Kelli promised. “Enjoy the movie.”
With a heavy sigh, Brett turned his attention back to Lassie and her young master, on the run from Pernell Roberts’ evil character, Jameson. He was about to start singing along with Pat Boone when Trapper barged into the room. He started checking Farlow and then untied the man’s wrists.
“You seem ‘with it’ now.” Trapper said as he patted his patient on the head, patronizingly.
Farlow eagerly reached up and pulled the mask off his face. “Can we get rid of this damned thing too? It feels like a gag.” he complained.
Trapper frowned a bit, looked concerned, and said, “Well, not so fast… let’s not rush things… You’re going to be in here for a week. What’s your hurry?”
He glanced up at the television and saw Pernell Roberts chasing Lassie, calling her Heatherbelle. “Man, I hope that guy gets his dog back.” Trapper said under his breath.
Trapper moved over to Brett, who was looking really disagreeable. “Fuck this place.” Brett muttered. “I just want a motherfuckin’ beer.”
“Now now, young man…” Trapper said. “Take it easy. You’re in a hospital. Time to rest. Let Kelli take care of you.”
“Tell her to bring me a beer… and pizza. This hospital food sucks.” Brett said with a scowl.
“Young man, your attitude could use some adjusting. Perhaps it’s time I prescribed a treatment to help you with your problem.” Trapper suggested.
“Fuck that, and fuck you. I need to get out of here and on with my life. I have social ladders to climb and women to plumb.” Brett hissed.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Trapper asked incredulously. “You don’t realize you’ve entered another dimension.”
“The only other dimension I want to enter is a beer and nurse Kelli’s vagina.” Brett snapped.
“I see…” Trapper said, his voice steady. “Well that makes me think you really do need treatment for your problem. I may have to introduce you to another doctor… a woman who really knows your mind.”
“I don’t need that. I just want to party.” Brett said. “Why is that so hard to understand? And why do I have to stay in this Godforsaken place? My home is on the East Coast, with all the other snot nosed brats.”
“I see. Well, I think it would do you some good to talk to Dr. Ford.” Trapper said. “She’s a maverick in her field, but I think she can straighten you out… maybe get that yucky look off your face.”
“I don’t want to talk to her.” Brett sniveled.
“Okay… well then maybe Nurse Kelli can give you an enema to help kill the bug up your ass.” Trapper suggested. “You seem a bit constipated.”
“Hmmmph.” Brett huffed, sullenly turning his eyes back to the TV.
Farlow was watching this scene with interest, although he really needed to pee. He somehow found the energy to ask Trapper for help going to the bathroom.
“Sure pal.” Trapper said. “Usually, I’d let the nurses handle this, but I can see you’re a man’s man.” The bearded, distinguished doctor came over and helped Farlow out of bed. He was grateful Nurse Kelli had already removed the man’s catheter. They went into the bathroom and Farlow let out a long and very loud stream of piss that reverberated throughout the semi-private room.
“For God’s sake!” Brett complained. “Do you have to be so loud? You sound like a horse peeing on a rock!”
“Sorry… I really had to pee.” Farlow apologized.
“Well do you have to be so fucking loud?” Brett scowled. “No fucking class!”
Farlow gave Trapper a grateful look as he rolled his eyes.
“That kid is such a brat.” Trapper said sympathetically. “Sorry you have to share quarters with him.”
“No worries… I once shared a house with six brothers.” Farlow said. “And they were all horny because they were looking for wives.”
“I think that’s Brett’s problem, too. He’s a spoiled, horny, little bastard.” Trapper said. “And he’s also a drunk. He needs a good spanking to teach him some manners. I’m tempted to let Nurse Kelli practice some procedures on him, but he’d probably enjoy that too much.”
“I’ve never seen anyone scowl so much.” Farlow admitted as he washed his hands. “He really is very unpleasant indeed.”
“Nurse Kelli will fix him… with help from Dr. Ford.” Trapper promised as he walked his patient back to bed.
Farlow was safely tucked into bed, where he nodded off. He was right in the middle of a pleasant dream in which he was at Southfork Ranch, making mad passionate love with Miss Ellie, when he was awakened by a blood curdling scream.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Brett was screaming. He had climbed out of bed and was cornered by a couple of beefy orderlies who were holding a straitjacket.
“Now, now, Mr. Yuk…” one of the orderlies soothed. Farlow blinked his eyes and realized the head orderly was a very muscular woman. She was flanked by two huge guys who looked like they could be linebackers for the Dallas Cowboys. Behind her was Nurse Kelli with a syringe at the ready. A cameraman stood in the corner, filming everything. It looked just like a dramatic scene on Trapper John, M.D.
“Get away from me! I haven’t given you CONSENT!” Brett fumed.
The head orderly advanced at her patient, and with one swift move, pinned him to the bed. He shrieked in fear as another orderly placed his hand over the young man’s mouth and the other orderly efficiently wrapped him up in the straitjacket. Nurse Kelli then gave him an injection that rendered him more compliant.
“Wha…” Brett stammered. “What are…”
“Shhh…” Nurse Kelli said, her Pepsodent smile radiating across her pretty features. “It’s just part of your treatment. Dr. Ford will be with you in a moment. Just got to wait for you to relax a bit. That way it won’t hurt as much.”
The orderlies tucked their patient into bed, put up the siderails, and left the room while Nurse Kelli stood by, monitoring the young man with the Mr. Yuk scowl.
“This would go so much better if you’d just cooperate.” Nurse Kelli said. “Take your medicine like a good boy.”
“Fucking bitch!” the young man shrieked. “I’ll get you for this.”
“Right… I’m sure you will. Just relax. Dr. Ford will see you at her convenience.” Nurse Kelli said. “If you’re lucky, she won’t make you wait for what’s coming to you.”
Brett scowled again as he glared at the nurse. Her chirpy demeanor and perfect smile were pissing him off even more as he struggled against the rough canvas of the straitjacket. Farlow glanced over at the spectacle, suddenly glad his own medical bondage scene had been short lived.
A minute later, the door opened and there stood a middle aged blonde woman in a very stylish business suit. She wore glasses and sensible heels as she strode over to her unruly patient.
“Hello Dr. Ford.” Nurse Kelli said, her voice rich with admiration.
“Nurse…” the doctor said. “So this is the patient. He’s permanently scowling, isn’t he? Needs a little help with his attitude…”
“Yes, I think so. I’ve heard you can do amazing things with the mind.” Nurse Kelli gushed. “I would love to study under you…”
Brett and Farlow both looked at the attractive psychologist and thought the same thing. But Farlow was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and Brett was too busy scowling to make his feelings known.
“You know…” Dr. Ford said. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to reach him with just simple conversation. I think it’s time we forced him to watch something other than Lassie.” She nodded at the television. “Change the channel… Lifetime should do it. A nice long marathon of movies about women who have been sexually harassed and date raped ought to be a good start.”
Nurse Kelli’s eyes widened. “Do I get to stay in the room and supervise him?” she breathed.
“I’m not opposed to it.” Dr. Ford shrugged. “That’s just the beginning… we’ll start with Lifetime TV, then move on to Dr. Phil. Then a steady diet of Kathie Lee Gifford…”
“What?!” Brett shouted. “I’ve never even heard of these things!”
“Lucky for you, I’m from the future.” Dr. Ford said. “You’re going to get a headstart on the 1990s and the 2000s. Then I’ll go back to the future.”
“Why?” Brett asked plaintively.
“Because big things are in store for you… and if you don’t get straightened out now, you will fuck up a lot of lives.” Dr. Ford said, smoothing her blonde hair.
“I don’t have time for this.” Brett sneered.
“We’ll see that you make time. And if you’re difficult about it, I can think of some very fun ways to make you comply.” Dr. Ford said. “Don’t try me, young man.”
Brett sighed heavily. “Yes Ma’am… Let the re-education begin.”
“I’m sure you’ll be good and ready for the future after a few Lifetime movies. Every man should watch them so they can learn proper respect.” Dr. Ford said.
And here is the one comment I got on this tripe…
I like it, an instant story! Write more.
Maybe I should… especially now that my former monitor is no longer monitoring me.
The weekend is already over! What a bummer that is! Actually, I’m glad another week of August is over, as I’m looking forward to less hot and muggy weather. This year, we’ve had a pretty mild summer. That’s a blessing, when you live in a country where air conditioned buildings are not the norm. However, it’s still pretty warm, and I’m tired of sweating just for sitting outside.
You might be wondering about today’s blog title. No, it’s not about Bill and me. We’re still pretty tight. Actually, today’s post refers to a funny comment someone left on a recent advice column article in The Irish Times. Some poor woman had written that her marriage of 20 years was breaking up, and though her husband was still living with her, he was refusing to be affectionate. She wrote that it was an especially bad time for this to be happening, since she’s also caring for someone who is dying.
Lots of Irish folks chimed in, writing that the husband was cheating. One especially clever man wrote “Welcome to Dumpsville! Population: You!”
That struck me as funny, so I posted a comment… It went something like this. “I visit Dumpsville for a long, stinky stay every morning.” Sorry, but when anyone mentions anything involving the word “dump”, my mind goes straight down the toilet.
The Irish Times is always good for a laugh, if only from its readers. Sure, it’s disturbing how many of the folks who read that paper are far right leaning, but some of the comments are wickedly funny. In fact, this morning, I was reminded of a comment from last year that had me rolling so hard that I posted about it on Facebook. It showed up in my memories this morning.
Most newspaper comment sections can be infuriating, though. Take, for instance, an article posted on The New York Times about Tropical Storm Hilary. Note the spelling of the storm’s name… only one “l”, not two. But that doesn’t stop all of the MAGA Cult #45ists, coming out in droves!
Here’s Donald Trump, indicted multiple times in different jurisdictions, battling lawsuits out his substantial ass. And as a side note, I’ll bet he spends plenty of time in Dumpsville, too. You’d think people with normal intelligence would understand that even if you are politically conservative, he’s BAD for America. The man is deep legal trouble. It’s time to move on and find someone else to be the Republican nominee. But those damned MAGA morons will NOT let it go, and they show up to spread their goddamned political manure everywhere, even on a news story about a fucking tropical storm in California!
Here’s what a person named Sue observed:
This article is about a tropical storm NOT politics. Some of these comments are ridiculous!!! Just my thoughts. Everyone has a right to their own thoughts.
I’m with you, Sue. I wish the MAGA extremists would give their Trump obsession a rest. I’d like to have some faith in more of my fellow Americans. But it’s not to be… Behold!
If you’re so spun up about the presidential election happening next year that you have to turn a news article about the weather into something political, we don’t need to know you personally to know that you’re not too tightly wrapped. I think the guy who responded to Rhonda is correct. Her mind is not her own. You know that old Beach Boys song, “Help Me, Rhonda?” Well, I think it’s time someone helped Rhonda out with a clue. I actually have a soft spot for people named Rhonda. I used to have an awesome cocker spaniel/English setter mixed dog named Rhonda. I think she was wiser than Trumper Rhonda is… It’s pretty bad when you’re so stuck up Trump’s ass that you turn a weather story into something political.
If I felt like wasting time, I could respond to Rhonda at length about how much I think life is so much better without Trump in office. For one thing, it’s nice to see someone in office who doesn’t spend all his time golfing, tweeting, and setting up stunts designed to convince people that his dick is much larger than it really is. For another, I don’t have to read about Trump’s ridiculous policies that literally hurt people. And I don’t feel ashamed when I tell people where I’m from, like I did when Trump was president. Do you know how many Europeans asked me about how I felt about him? A whole lot of them… and they used my answer as a barometer of sanity and good sense.
I don’t think Biden is the best president we’ve ever had, but he’s certainly not as bad as Trump was. He’s basically competent and decent, even if he is elderly. I wouldn’t be sad if he decided not to run for president again, but since it’s clear he’s going to run, I’m going to support him. Why? Because Trump literally doesn’t care about anyone but himself, and it’s an outrage that anyone with a functioning brain is still considering him fit for office. There was a time when a politician’s simple misspelling of the word “potato” would end with endless ridicule from the citizenry and personal disgrace. Now, we put up with presidential candidates who have a real shot at scoring a spot in prison.
Actually, I doubt Trump will ever go to prison, but I think a lot of his minions will be going. And he won’t do a fucking thing to help them. But maybe he’ll throw some more ketchup at the wall while he demands a goddamned military parade.
I just want to see normal people running for office. I want the three ring circus to end. I want people to stop bickering with strangers on social media and turning every news item into political bullshit. It’s time we came together and functioned as a country. But I don’t think it will happen again in my lifetime… which is why I’m avoiding doctors and hoping to be beamed up soon. I’ve lost a lot of my optimism and I fear the hellscape is getting closer by the day. At least I can take comfort in knowing that my particular branch of the family tree will end with me.
Anyway… it’s a Monday, and that means another week of whatever comes. So, I guess it’s time I signed off the blog and got to work on my chores. Hope you have a good day… or, at least the day you deserve. 😀
The featured photo was hanging in our first German landlord’s guest toilet when we moved in. I didn’t understand it then. I do now.
Happy hump day, y’all. It’s already gotten off to an interesting start for me. First off, I was having an erotic dream when I woke up. It was a bit kinky, but the people involved were a married couple (not Bill and me) and very friendly with each other. I probably ought to lay off the Lifetime movies for awhile…
Arran is bright and funny this morning. He will see the vet tonight and probably get a blood test and chemo. Bill told me last night that he has to go on another week long business trip soon, which is worrying for both of us. Somehow, I think Arran will go when the time is just right, but while my instincts are usually right, they aren’t always. I look forward to the day when Bill doesn’t have to do these business trips so often anymore. Or, at least he does them when our dogs are healthy.
But, enough about that. You probably clicked on this post because of the title. I’ll agree; it’s a weird one, even by my standards.
I was interested in Ms. Parkins’ article, because here in Germany, men routinely sit down to pee. There are even signs in some public restrooms addressing this phenomenon. When we moved into our very first German house, there was a postcard in the bathroom that showed a man lying on the floor by the toilet. It read, “Nicht im stehen.” I asked our landlord what it meant, and he said “Not while standing.”
In 2007, I didn’t know that German men are trained by the women in their lives to sit when they urinate. And I know some might call me sexist for putting it that way, but seriously, when I finally encountered an explanation about this particular cultural phenomenon, that was kind of how it was put to me. This was the comment posted on Toytown Germany in June 2008, which was when we were living in that first German house.
Stehpinkeln has been a big topic on my mind of late. Through watching day time TV I have come to realise that a vast majority of people (mainly German women) are disgusted by men who pee in standing.
I can understand that it can make a mess sometimes (I am not a man, thusly, I have no personal experience) but is it such a terrible thing? Am I the only one who seems to think that it’s OK for men to stand and pee into a toilet?!
This was such a mind blower for me in 2008. Apparently, it was for other people in that forum, because the thread went on for 445 posts and 23 pages. The last post was dated January 2015. I’ve seen a couple of other posts about it on that forum. I also read and reviewed a book about it a few years ago. Seriously, there is a book titled German Men Sit Down To Pee And Other Insights Into German Culture. I gave it a favorable review.
So anyway, last night, I was reading Brianna Parkins’ article about men sitting to pee. She writes that sitting to pee is also common in Japan, another country where a lot of American men work for the US military. Actually, given how fancy Japanese toilets can be, I can see why men don’t mind sitting down to do their business. They even have a fancy video for potty training kids.
But the German word for a man who sits to pee, Sitzpinkler, is used negatively, to imply unmasculine behaviour, “something like ‘wuss’ in English”, according to the Guardian. So that newpaper’s well-reasoned arguments for having a seat while taking a slash will have made men question their core beliefs: they had to ask themselves if a standing wee is just a byproduct of toxic masculinity.
It caused women to ask ourselves how men – them lot who can’t aim their pee in the toilet without it getting on the ground – ended up in charge for so long. The mind boggles.
Seeing the success of men adopting practices formerly considered “women’s business”, here are some other ways men could benefit by becoming more like women.
It probably won’t surprise some readers that Bill sometimes sits when he pees. He says he mainly does it that way at night, since it’s easier to sit down than turn on the light and blind himself. We do have a new Toilight, which is a stocking stuffer I bought at Christmas time. It senses motion and turns on a night light, which makes going to the bathroom safer and easier in the dark. But it doesn’t always work the way it’s supposed to. Bill’s habit of sitting down when he pees at night predates the Toilight, too. He’s always been considerate that way.
I had a look at the comment section, figuring the Irish would be “taking the piss”, so to speak, about this article. I wasn’t disappointed. Quite a lot of Irish men were offended by Ms. Parkins’ article, which they probably didn’t even read, since it’s behind a paywall. I saw a number of comments indicating that men who sit down to pee are “emasculated” somehow. It seems to me that peeing is mostly private business, unless you’re into golden showers or something.
It’s a pity those men didn’t read Ms. Parkins’ article, which I found delightfully snarky and funny. And you know, she’s right. Not only does sitting while peeing make less of a mess, but sometimes listening to people who have been educated about things like, say, medicine, is a good idea. Apparently, a lot of men in Ireland are averse to doing that. So is being less homophobic and enjoying some friendly skin on skin contact with other men, other than when they play contact sports.
At the very end of the article, Ms. Parkins’ real agenda comes out, and it’s a good one. She writes:
But that one’s not going to change the world. The one that would really count, just off the top of my head, would be getting men to inflict less violence, both sexual and physical, on women.
In Ireland, Women’s Aid has registered 256 violent deaths of women since 1996. Of the 200 cases that have been resolved, 87 per cent of the victims were killed by a man they knew. In Australia, where I grew up, five women have died from violence allegedly committed by a man in the first month of the year, according to Counting Dead Women Australia. In 2022, 56 women there suffered the same fate.
I would like to tell Ms. Parkins that men can be victims of domestic violence, too. Unfortunately, I know this because my husband experienced it with his ex wife. Like a lot of abuse survivors, he didn’t realize that was what he was experiencing at the time. It wasn’t until he told me some stories that I brought up the possibility. Many years later, after not having spoken to his daughter for a long time, she actually recognized it and sent him a news article about men in domestic violence situations. So, I wasn’t the only one who easily saw the truth.
It’s too bad some of the Irish men complaining about the article didn’t read it and get the actual main idea, which is that men could learn a lot from women, not just about urination, but also about not being so violent. But I would hasten to add that some women need a few lessons about not being violent, too.
Here are a few comments… obviously, most of the people didn’t read the article. I’ll admit, my own comments were about German men sitting to pee, too. I managed to “piss” off an Irishman, who claimed that he had lived here for over 20 years and that it’s not true that German men sit to pee. I guess he watched them. I mean, yes, there are urinals here. I’ve heard that some Germans even put them in their homes so they can stand when they pee. But I’ve seen a lot of signs requesting that men sit down for the performance.
A hometown friend of mine shared the following post on Facebook. I was not surprised at all.
I decided to click on the original post, to see the comment section. I had a feeling it would be quite an epic shitshow of ignorance and stubbornness, with a dip into hatred toward liberal politics, to boot. I wasn’t disappointed. Lots of people were cheering about this invention, which also is handy for opening beer bottles.
Here are a few comments…
These guys can relax, though, because it seems that this company is a bit scammy. On other posts on that page, as of 2020, many people have complained that they ordered this product and never received it. I guess the people who make it are too busy opening beer bottles to fulfill their orders. Or maybe they’re just hanging out with their labradoodles…
Here’s another area where Germans are probably smarter. It’s illegal in Germany to drive a car with your pet unrestrained, sitting in the front seat of the car. For one thing, an air bag would probably kill Fido if it goes off. For another, Fido might cause you to be distracted and get into a wreck. Pets in Germany have to either ride in a crate in the back, or wear a “seatbelt” harness in the backseat that clips to the seatbelt buckle.
And while I’ve driven with objects sitting on the front seat plenty of times, that’s also not the safest practice. In the event of an accident, that object– just like Fido or a human body– will likely become a flying object that could hit you or any other passengers or bystanders in the head when it becomes airborne. But, as a lot of us know, a lot of Americans aren’t long on common sense or practical thinking. That’s how so many of them thought Donald Trump would be a good president. The same people are ordering this product and getting scammed.
Ah well… if I weren’t married to a man who didn’t turn into Pat Boone any time I tried to skip the seatbelt, I probably would agree with some of the conservative knuckleheads on the Tikit page. But Bill is a total safety geek, so I guess that means I am, too. Just like I can’t sleep after about 5:30am anymore, thanks to my morning rooster…
Well, I think I’ll end this post and go see if my laundry is dry yet. Maybe today, I’ll manage to record some music. Since I retooled my workspace, I’m having some technical difficulties.
I am reposting this article I wrote for my original blog back on November 22, 2013. It’s not that I don’t have another topic in mind for today. I just saw this in my Facebook memories and realized that yes, nine years later, I am STILL very grateful for orgasms. And I just wanted to spread the news.
As it’s November and the month of Thanksgiving, there have been a number of Facebook posts recently about gratitude. Many people post something they are grateful for every day in November. In the spirit of gratitude, I too have been posting things I am thankful for. I try to keep my thanks upbeat and light-hearted, though. I figure there are enough schmaltzy posts about being grateful for good health and happiness or a supportive family. I like to give other things their due.
So I am grateful for odd things like clean underwear, modern plumbing, and Jagger’s swagger. And yesterday, I was grateful for orgasms. I posted that thought and was amazed by how many “likes” it got. Some people thought it was funny. Some thought it was shocking. Some people, who know me, thought it was typical. But yes, a lot of people apparently appreciate the ability to have an orgasm. And you know, it’s something that many of us probably take for granted. I’m aware that a lot of people thought my post on Facebook was funny, but when you think about it, the ability to have and enjoy an orgasm is really a much more serious subject than meets the eye.
Back in the late 1990s, I took Prozac for awhile. It wasn’t the best drug for me and pretty much killed my ability to have an orgasm, not that I had a sex life at the time. I just remember that even when I was in the mood for a little self abuse, it took forever. It was very frustrating. I remember thinking of Kurt Vonnegut’s short story, “Welcome To The Monkey House“, a story about overpopulation and indecency and how people of the future were ordered to take a drug that took all pleasure out of sex. In the story, a druggist had taken his family to the zoo and was appalled when they saw monkeys masturbating. He came up with “ethical birth control”, a drug which didn’t actually render anyone sterile, but just made sex unappealing. Because the world was overpopulated, everyone was required to take the druggist’s birth control pill.
The story was also about how people were encouraged to visit “ethical suicide parlors”, where beautiful, tall, virginal women would help people voluntarily kill themselves as an effort to keep the world population of 17 billion people stable. There was a group of rebels who refused to take the birth control and therefore were able to enjoy sex. And indeed, they did enjoy it frequently. One of the characters kidnaps a “suicide hostess” who is very much in favor of the laws. The characters force the woman to allow the birth control to wear off… which, of course, gives her the ability to know what she had been missing.
I have always liked the story, but after taking Prozac, it became very profound to me. It’s been years since I read it, but I do remember Vonnegut describing what the ethical birth control did to people and how it made them feel… kind of numb in the sexual regions. And that’s how Prozac made me feel, too.
But at least I had the ability to stop taking the drug. I eventually switched to Wellbutrin, which was a much better antidepressant for me. My nether regions came back to life and my depression finally lifted. I was able to make decisions. Later that year, I met Bill online and the rest is history. You might say Wellbutrin actually helped me finally get a sex life, though it took a few years.
I am very grateful not to have been raised in a belief system that thinks of sex as a dirty thing. It’s bad enough that we have a number of religions that discourage masturbation and subject members to humiliating interviews about their “habits” and refer to masturbation as “self abuse”. There are also belief systems that promote the idea that enjoying sex is a sin and that it should only be done for the purpose of procreation.
There are a number of religions that forbid members from admiring others, even to the point of forcing young men to look away when a pretty woman walks by or worse, forcing young women to wear shapeless garments that obscure their figures and veils that cover their hair and face. This is all done in the name of avoiding lust or, heaven forbid, immorality caused by an orgasm. An early episode of the fundamentalist Christian Duggar family’s reality show featured someone shouting “Nike!” when a pretty but “inappropriately dressed” young woman walked by. It was a code to get the boys to lower their eyes, lest they be “defrauded”– that is, driven to lust by the tempting appearance of a beautiful woman. Can’t have those young men having boners, can we? Not until their wedding nights to women who are hand-picked by daddy… and may or may not be all that attractive or interesting. (ETA in 2022– oh, how innocent we were about the Duggar family in 2013!)
There are also a lot of women who, unfortunately, can’t have orgasms because they have been subjected to female circumcision. Female circumcision is a horrible misogynistic custom practiced in certain countries around the world. It’s considered a rite of passage in some places, perhaps even celebrated to some extent before a poor girl between the ages of birth and puberty is forcibly held down as her genitals are brutally mutilated by other women or even the local male barber, who may be a local health practitioner. It involves removing part or all of the clitoris and sewing up the labia, which makes the eventual enjoyment of sex very difficult. This procedure can be done with or without anesthesia. It can cause significant health problems and gynecological difficulties. It can also cause death.
Women who have had their clitorises amputated can’t experience orgasms. They may or may not know what they are missing, which seems like a small problem in the grand scheme of things. Just the idea of trying to recover from such a brutal operation, as routine for them as having wisdom teeth extracted is for many Americans, is hard to fathom. It really is food for thought if you happen to be lucky enough to be a woman living in a place where female genital mutilation is not common.
So yes, during this season of Thanksgiving, I am very grateful for orgasms… the ability to have them at will, and for the sweet man who still inspires me to have them. Orgasms are one of life’s most wonderful gifts. May you enjoy your orgasms as much as I do mine…
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