I went out to dinner with Becky Tuesday night at Big Hunt (Scott the Long-Bearded bartender was working but not Waiter Crush. Sigh. 1 out of 2 aint bad.) and I had AICOAY? moment after AICOAY? moment after AICOAY? moment. Specifically about the following statements:
1.) Renee Zellweger was married to Kenny Chesney.
2.) She filed for divorce citing fraud after four months of marriage.
3.) Bees sleep at night.
4.) Ken Paves is not Mexican.
Ok, I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't think any of the above were true and kind of thought Becky was crazy for inferring otherwise. Which in turn made Becky think I was crazy. Upon further Google inspection, it turns out that Becky was correct and I am indeed the crazy one. To which I say, wha?? Each of those facts blows my mind slightly more than the last. HOW DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING TO ME?! I'm a reasonably intelligent and hip to the know young lady! This is like the narwhal debacle all over again.
This AICOAY? nonsense is really messing with my ability to properly mock Dr. Reuben and his bat-shit crazy "medical" advice. I cracked open Everything You Wanted to Know... last night to pick out some adequately nonsensical advice to make fun of and every time I found a passage I liked, I stopped and started second guessing myself about which one of us is the crazy one. Because maybe shoving a coat hanger up your pee hole is normal and I've just never lived? Maybe? I don't know. And I'm not willing to try (plus I only have plastic hangers...), I'm just saying that everything I thought was right is wrong, black is white and I don't know which way is up anymore. It's like that Twilight Zone episode with the planet where the pig people are attractive and the chick who played Ellie May Clampett is the busted one. AND I'M THE ELLIE MAY CLAMPETT! Get me out of here!
So here are some Q&As that I thought were unreasonable, but I could be wrong. Perhaps we're all supposed to spend our days duct taping bubble wrap around our dicks and indulging in coke douches. In which case, thank god I have a CVS Extra Care card.
How big is the normal penis?
That is the question of the century. Every male, virtually from the moment he is aware of this marvelous organ, is plagued by this question. Rarely does one encounter a gentleman who is satisfied with the size of his phallus. Even those endowed with obviously outsized organs year for more—"It could be just a little bit longer..."
This preoccupation with size leads to some unusual behavior. Whenever two nude men encounter each other for the first time, in a public shower, a country club locker room, a YMCA swimming pool, their eyes go first to each other's penises. Rapidly, sometimes almost imperceptibly, they measure the organ, compare ti with their own, then continue with the matter at hand. Even in public washrooms, standing at the urinal, eyes dart swiftly to organs, the mental micrometer steps off the distance and makes the comparative calculation. In more than one private club the management has thoughtfully installed large magnifying mirrors over the urinals so that each gentleman who avails himself of their facilities can feast his eyes on the reflection of a phallus which would do credit to a bull elephant.
Unfortunately these penile Olympics are a no-win proposition. Those who spy larger organs than their own are chagrined: their fears are confirmed. A man whose penis is the longest in the locker room that day receives scan consolation. With each new contest he will be up against new and unmeasured competition.
Perhaps one of the reasons behind this forlorn quest is the enormous disparity between the penises of father and child. At the age of three or four the parent's phallus seems immense by comparison. Not until many years later at puberty does the son's organ begin to catch up. By then the damage is done. Most men are never really sure that their penis has finally caught up to daddy's.
Now, I am apt to think a lot of that answer is a dish of roasted bullshit with a side of crazy sauce. I highly doubt there are or have ever been magnifying mirrors above urinals to make your junk look bigger...but when we get down to brass tacks; I don't know. How could I? I don't really hang out in men's bathroom's that often and just because I've never heard otherwise doesn't necessarily make it false. AM I CRAZY, OR IS DOC REUBEN?
Likewise, re: this statement:
Most men are never really sure that their penis has finally caught up to daddy's.
First of all, sir, did you really have to say "daddy's"? Couldn't you have said "their father's?" Don't verbally molest your readers if you don't have to. That's my motto. (And you're welcome.) But more to the point: what?! Men are constantly measuring the size of their dicks to their fathers?? When have they seen their father's dicks to begin with? OR IS THAT NORMAL? Oh my god, I'm so confused. Right after I read this last night, Alex called and the following awkward exchange went down:
Alex: Hey! I had fun tonight at—
Meg: WHATEVER, HAVE YOU EVER MEASURED THE SIZE OF YOUR PENIS AGAINST YOUR FATHER'S AND FELT INADEQUATE?!
Alex: [Makes a series of disguised and horrified noises] Jesus, god, no! This is like the time you asked if my mom taught me to jerk off.
Meg: And much like that time, it's a Doc Reuben thing.
I asked Andrew as well, who was equally horrified, so I'm thinking I'm the sane one and Dr. Reuben is the crazy one. But really, who knows?! That's only two people out of the entire world! I JUST DON'T KNOW. All I know for sure is that I am absolutely starting a funk band and naming it "Penile Olympics." And we'll be going on tour with Dr. Rebuen & The Blanket Statements.
Do all women have these changes at the menopause?
Irene was noticing the general changes from estrogen starvation. Weight gain, shifting in fat deposits, increased wrinkling of the skin, and dryness of the hair are annoying. There are worse things to come:
"But this is the reason I'm here, doctor. In the last few months I've started growing hair on my face. And my voice is getting deeper. But that's not all..."
Irene began to sound embarrassed.
"I can't even have relations with my husband anymore."
"Why is that? What seems to be the trouble?"
"I don't know. I can't seem to describe it. My—my—it just isn't—can't even—"
She was gritting her teeth.
Patient questioning by the doctor revealed Irene was trying to tell him her vagina was shrinking. The atrophy had progressed to the point where the vaginal opening would no longer admit her husband's penis. Irene's sexual desire had vanished more than a year before and intercourse was a monthly event. One the most recent occasion, it was as if the vagina had vanished.
WHAT IN THE SICK FUCK?!!??!!?!?!? Your vagina VANISHES during menopause?! Are you fucking kidding me?! There is no way that is true. None. 100%. I refuse to believe it. I'm willing to go along the hot flashes and the facial hair and the boob sagging, but I refuse to believe that your vagina packs up it's bags and heads to a time-share in Boca for the rest of it's life.
...That being said, who knows?? It could be true. My first reaction after reading that was to call my mom and straight-up ask her, but a.) I just don't want to know anything about the size of my mom's vagina b.) Ew c.) God d.) It was 12:30 at night at the time and I didn't want to wake her up with questions about menopause and gettin' it on. Because hasn't she already been through enough?
Why not? [re: Menopause doesn't have to be the end of a woman's useful life.]
Because she has been castrated by Father Time is no reason for a modern woman to give up the battle. She has many weapons at her disposal, if she will only use them. If she is determined and if her doctor is skillful, they can virtually turn back the clock.
Castrated. By. Father. Time. I believe Dr. Rebuen is in the wrong field. Because this shit is sheer poetry.
Are there some women like that? [re: Women who do not masturbate]
Yes, and many suffer intensely as a result. There is a condition which plagues middle-aged women, especially those who live alone. it is called pruritus vulvae, a medical way of saying itching of the vulva, and a ferocious itch it is. These women have a constant compulsion to scratch their sexual appendages to relieve the itching, burning, tingling sensations they have there.
...So what you're trying to say is that it is your medical opinion that if a woman doesn't masturbate, she'll get a vicious case of crotch-rot? I mean...this book has been re-printed over 30 times. It is 100% possible that indeed if I don't use it, I'm going to lose it. To a "ferocious itch." Before it falls off completely when I hit menopause. And my husband won't want to put his always-in-the-shadow-of-Daddy's-dick in me anymore, even if he could.
In addition to my request to be buried in my Jack Daniel's pajama pants, I would also like to request someone take me out back and put me down like Old Yeller when I reach 50. And I thank you.