I am 65 years old, and I can no longer even pick up the 65 year old women at the YMCA. If Brad Pitt is a 10, I am a 2, and I am a 2 on a Brad Pitt day.
So, if I see anything on TV that moves my personal ‘needle’ toward scoring, I will pay close attention.
So here is what I noticed on TV this morning.
“If you are feeling sluggish and have a lower sex drive…..”
That, my friends, is how it starts.
The rest of the commercial, which I witnessed for the first time this morning, and which you can view with a click on the link, is truly amazing.
A beautiful woman, in a white dress that comes up to her….well…..uh….welllllllll……personal regions has her car breakdown on a somewhat less travelled road.
A guy, perhaps my age, but with considerably less poundage, stops to help. Girl is all smiley, flirty, and deliciously wiggly.
He tries to help, I guess to no avail. Then the camera focuses in on the guy from below waist level as he snaps off his belt.
Dear God! He is going to DO HER right by the side of the road! Or so I think. You will have to watch the video to see what his true intent is.
I must tell you that at this point, Amnesiac the PIG is in no need of male sexual supplement. My booster rockets are firing.
So I decide to conduct an experiment.
I will cruise in my ten year old Honda and see if any single women have broken down by the side of the road. Since I know nothing about car repair, I will simply rip off my xx large belt and see if the stranded babe wants to DO IT.
Half an hour in, and I appear to have struck gold. A woman is leaning over her smoking engine, cursing a blue streak. I firtatiously ask her name, and she tells me it is Marge. I soon realize this means Large Marge.
Marge is totally pissed off and yanks my hair with her gigantic fist and slams my head against the steaming radiator. When she finds out that I have no repair skills she enters the ballistic zone and shuts the hood on my previously stimulated private man thing.
I move on.
Hmmmmm…..this next situation looks better. Wow, never saw teeth tattoos before. This lady’s name is Bertha, as in Basement Bertha. She never checked her motor oil, it turns out, so she has blown her engine. I am dreaming that she might also blow other things, but this just doesn’t appear to work out.
Bertha asks if I am Polish. I respond truthfully, that I am not. Bertha whips out a semi automatic weapon of unknown type and starts blasting in my direction.
I have now attempted to get a bit more than cuddly with two stranded women, but things have not worked out for me.
I return home, inflate Vinyl Velma, and proceed to rock her world.
Velma doesn’t drive, doesn’t yell, and never says no.
I think I’m in love.