'Matter of Laugh or Death,' the award-winning humor column

By Bill Dunn

Interesting observations on this thing we call life

(appearing each week in the Republican-American newspaper, Waterbury, CT)

AMERICA NEEDS ANTI-VIAGRA DRUG

Based on the sheer volume of Viagra advertisements—TV, radio, magazines, newspapers, billboards, even on race cars—you might get the impression that most men in America are unable to engage in, um, let me use technical terms, the biological reproductive function.

And based on the fact that at least 50-percent of all Internet email messages are unsolicited offers to purchase miracle products which will increase the size of a man’s, um, let me again use technical terms, biological reproductive function thing-ee, you might get the impression that most men in America are a bunch of General Tom Thumbs, whose wives won’t even go near them out of sheer disgust over the guys’ unfortunate, um, miniaturization issues. (As if women are not disgusted long before that by the typical man’s mating ritual: burping, scratching, emitting toxic fumes, a 12-hour football marathon, and then the always romantic call of, “Hey Mabel, come over here and gimme some lovin’—but first get me another beer.”)

However, when you read in the newspapers each morning about the many incidents of sexual misconduct committed by out-of-control, overly-aroused, non-Viagra-taking men (and that’s just politicians, movie stars, and professional athletes—if you include the rest of society the list gets really long), not to mention the fact that local school boards are clamoring for new school buildings every five years because they were surprised at the size of the incoming kindergarten class, I think it’s safe to say most men have no trouble at all engaging successfully in the biological reproductive function. In other words, the human species is in no danger of becoming extinct any time soon because of men’s inability to procreate.

You could even make the case that the male of the species has a far too overactive libido rather than the theme of the Viagra and email advertisements, that males need a lot of help getting “in the mood.” There is not enough space here to list every man who has ever thrown away his career, his family, his fortune, and/or his reputation because of a lack of control regarding sex. This is only a 700-word column, and such a list would require a 700-volume wing of a library. (I’m thinking an appropriate place would be a wing of the Bill Clinton Presidential Library.)

These lust-induced lapses in judgment occur because of a complex series of bio-chemical reactions inside a man’s brain. In layman’s terms, the blood flow to the “common sense sector” of the brain is completely cut off, causing otherwise intelligent men to make decisions such as the following (taken verbatim from the Walter Reed Army Hospital presidential medical files): “Let’s see, is it worth risking my position as the most powerful man on earth for a two-minute fling with a thong-snapping, overweight intern? Oh yeah, baby!!”

Rather than products which increase male sexual arousal, I’d like to sell the anti-Viagra: a product which will calm guys down and keep them from squandering their careers, families, fortunes, and/or reputations. My product, of course, would need a catchy brand name. Maybe something like “Viag-blah” or “Down boy!” or “Limpnoodle.”

Now, I know what you’re thinking (no, not that I’m a mental case—that’s obvious—I mean the other thing you’re thinking): no guy in his right mind, either with or without blood flow to the brain, would ever purchase such a product. Well, I know that. But there are plenty of products guys use everyday that they never purchase themselves, for example, socks and underwear.

Men don’t have to buy my new product. Women, on the other hand, will line up around the block, fists filled with 20-dollar bills and credit cards, for a chance to purchase this wonder drug. I’ll make a fortune and at the same time I’ll keep a lot of guys from squandering their fortunes. 

My miracle drug will be a can’t-miss winner. All I have to do is make sure Mabel can secretly slip it into a can of beer. 

©2004