The other day I walked into a video store with my two kids looking for a movie, and there was this life-sized cardboard cutout of a movie starlet. This particular life-sized cardboard cutout freezes the starlet in a pose in which she's walking away, looking seductively at the viewer -- me -- and beckoning him -- me -- with a curling finger to follow her. I've never seen any of the movies that this movie starlet has made, but I've seen pictures of her in magazines, and she's so beautiful it's ridiculous. It's ridiculous because it makes me behave ridiculously. You can walk a hundred and eighty degrees around the side of the cardboard that has my movie starlet's face on it, and no matter where you are she is looking right at you -- me -- beckoning. I know this because in the store I travelled each one of those one hundred and eighty degrees with the heat of her eyes burning directly into me. I imagined nibbling on her ear. I wondered what it would be like to kiss lips that were that big and pouty. I was actually having the thought that it might be better to take them on one at a time when my kids arrived with their video choice, which was Toy Story Two. Waldo, Jesus Christ, the thing was cardboard. Do I have a problem here?
Dear Worried Dad,
No, you do not have a problem. What you do have are genitals. Genitals pee, yes, but that is not what they're really known for. What genitals are known for is sex. If you are lucky enough to have been the result of the amazing chemical stunt called Life, then I'm afraid you have been saddled with the helpless compulsion to reproduce. Genitals, with the possible exception of the underside of the tongue, are the most visually disgusting part of the body that we get to have a look at without stepping on a land mine. Yet when you rub them in a certain way, I don't care who you are -- Mahatma Ghandi, Santa Claus, the mother in Leave It To Beaver -- you're going to make the kind of noises and behave in such a way that nobody, and I do mean nobody, is going to want to be around you for very long if you don't cut it out. Nonetheless, all we really want, day in and day out, is for them to be rubbed.
In the production of pleasure, your genitals have no rivals anywhere else on the rest of your body. In fact, as far as the reliable producing of pleasure goes, your genitals have no rivals period. There is nothing remotely similar to an orgasm. I've heard that enlightenment packs a wallop, but usually it takes years and years of work and involves a lot of waiting. An orgasm, particularly for males, is quick, easy, and fun fun fun. The only time you're not crazy about having another one immediately is immediately after you've just had one.
And here's why this is so: It's simple math. If a living thing dies more often than it replaces itself, game over. Extinct. And so, after eons of trial and error, evolution has stumbled upon a fantastic, although somewhat obvious simple trick of survival for living things that aren't plants:
MAKE REPRODUCING MORE FUN THAN ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING ELSE AND
LIVING THINGS WILL DO IT NO MATTER WHAT.
Worried Dad, have you ever seen a jumbo jet waiting to take off? If you look through the little window at the front, you might catch a glimpse of the captain. Doesn't the captain look tiny? Well, Captain Pee-wee controls the entire great gigantic object behind him. Think of Captain Pee-wee as your genitals. Your genitals, a small fraction of your total body, are often in charge of the rest of you. They often make you act like a fool. For example, my dog Tank, who doesn't even have any testicles, humps the arm of my couch, the leg of my wife, our guests. Bill Clinton, a brilliant man, just could not pass up having his genitals blown. Could not. Just could not. That's how much crazy, ridiculous fun it is. It's even more fun than being president. You, me, Bill, Tank, and all the living things on earth that can move from place to place, our first job is to multiply so that we don't die out. Because of this, we do lovely things, such as dropping to our knees and proposing marriage, sending flowers, blowing kisses, writing poems, and we do crazy things such as humping armrests even though our nuts are gone.
Lusting after a cardboard likeness of a movie starlet, Worried Dad, is nothing but proof that you're a living thing that is not a plant.
By the way, did your guys like Toy Story Two? I sure did.