Check the Luggage

    Which is more of a horror show: going through life as a male or as a female? Before you jump at what you assume is the obvious answer, consider what can happen with the male luggage.  And I don't just mean the obvious problem with it. 

    It is possible for old one-eye to get snared on a rogue pube—that’s right, a rogue pube.  Every time you move a certain way the noose gets tighter.  Could this be a desperate cry for help? 

    Buck up there, little fella.  Things are gonna get better.  I know that I spend too much time at home watching You-Tubes of  Tim Minchin and Ricky Gervais.  I’d go out to a bar or club, but I get so tired of waitresses asking me for my number.  You’ll find someone with an equally tangled life, someone with whom you can share your “I-know-right?”s.

    The ever-tightening noose has cut a diagonal crease across his face, leaving him looking like scarred Bond villain Blofeld.  “Good evening, Mr Bond.  I have kidnapped Miss Goodhead.  I intend to find out why she’s called Miss Goodhead.  Bwah, hah hah…”

     Just how pathetic is the current state of the male condition?  The following grafitti in a pub men’s room sums it up.  On the wall to the right of the urinal, written in one hand, it said, “I fucked your mom.”  Down below that, in a different, although not entirely different, hand it said, “Go home Dad; you’re drunk.”