Viagra Falls

Fuck Viagra! You don't need it. Nobody does. You'd be better off taking a placebo, garnering some confidence, and heading into a sexual skirmish.

We're talkin' a drug here with numerous side effects, and only one benefit. With or without Vegas odds, that's a terrible return. Still, this shit must be sellin', since the corporation that produces it has the cash to run television commercials that play on credulous minds.

Viagra is more easy to figure out than a two piece puzzle.

Watch, or read, an advertisement for this little blue implement from Hell. Make note of which demographic is targeted. Males obviously, but which males in particular?

Married men. Specifically, betrothed, middle-aged men. One might conclude this equates to erectile dysfunction for this age group, but that's what the makers of Viagra want you to think. It means money in their pockets, when some 50 year old can't get it up once, fears he has a problem, and runs to Dr. Kevorkian for pharmaceutical salvation.

Look at this logically, though. Due to fucked-up societal pressure, most men 40, 50, and 60 are either married, or have been. Consequently, they're having sex with the same partner over, and over, and over. Hence, tedium. Hence, boredom.

I love certain books, but I can only read 'em so many times, before the anticipation is all but stripped from their plots.

It's the same with marriage. Hump one woman hundreds, thousands, or tens of thousands of times, and you're gonna lose interest. This is simple rationale most people don't stop to consider, when binding themselves by law, in a monogamous commitment.

Makers of Viagra, and analogous drugs, are aware married, middle-aged men — resultant of protracted periods of matrimony — will become bored. As such, these snake oil salesmen play on the weaknesses of this demographic, informing them they have an actual affliction.

Married? Been so for a while? Having a hard time obtaining an erection?

Go out, and have an affair. You'll be carvin' granite with your salacious sword, in the company of your supplemental sex slave. It's simple logic, but the last thing the fuckheads at Big Pharma want you to figure out. If men realized they didn't need this useless crap, Viagra wouldn't be in business.

I've watched countless guys pop the little-blue-pill-that-couldn't, only to still have difficulty getting it up. As a result, these bastards dive deeper into despair, over a dilemma that doesn't exist.

Consider this, as well. One of the side effects that accompanies consumption of Viagra is the potential for heart attacks. Ask yourself this question: "Are you willing to risk having a coronary, in order to obtain a hard-on?" If you replied, "Yes," your problems are mental, not physical.

Society is headed down a path in which the majority of males will be dead — via heart failure — but their penises will be rock solid.

Dump Viagra. You don't need it. In addition, you'll seriously lessen your chance of having a coronary.

What follows are tips to assist in your quest for tumescence.

A) This isn't America's Got Talent, and you're not onstage. Trash terms like "sexual performance." You're forced to take tests, and constantly adhere to standards that cause undue torment. Fuck that!

These unnecessary evils suck the fun right out of existence. Don't allow them to permeate your last bastion of a good time: group sex. Be thrilled you're grabbin' bare tit! You've already won. Most folks are watching porn, while you're living it!

B) Partake of a myriad of women. By regularly rotating your inventory, it remains fresh and delicious. Doesn't that chocolate pie look scrumptious? It is, but now that you've tasted it, realize there's a bad-ass butterscotch pastry in the oven, and an amazing apple strudel cooling on the rack. Try 'em all!

C) Last time I had sex, I was alone and frightened.

Don't exhaust your ammo during solo sessions. Some of the best coitus I've experienced was when nobody was around. Even so, I can't remember one solitary showdown I've engaged in, but still recall the worst sex I've had with a woman in attendance.

Fingering your flute is pleasurable, but don't do it constantly. You'll end up with nothing left for adventures in the swinging arena.

D) This being said, there's no way you'll stop boppin' the bishop. Nobody does. Clergy do it — probably incessantly. Unless it's collecting pictures of Fred Savage's asshole, why stop doing something you enjoy? Should you find yourself whittling the wiener, use that experience as a training tool.

If you must whack it, do so for a long time. I never get in touch with myself, unless I plan on being there at least two hours. You can apply your own specifications, but this discipline not only enhances your orgasms, it also teaches your body it's fine to hump for extended interludes.

Hence, you'll be able to hook-up with more women. Don't be shocked, when you're bestowed the colloquialism "Energizer Bunny," amongst repeat customers.

E) When fluffing Mr. Peepers, try not shooting your load. This insane society indoctrinates us to believe that — as a male — you're obligated to fire off your cannon, in order to be sexually satisfied.

Rather, stroke for hours, and simply store up that resultant energy. I do it all the time, and can literally go about my day, on 120 minutes of sleep.

Blue balls is an erroneous term, obviously conjured up by some dude attempting to coerce some chick into getting him off.

F) Da More I Drink, Demeanor I Get. Upon entrance to a libidinous location, some guys make it their life's goal to become Bud Light's best customer. The moniker "Super Sexual Soldier" isn't often found alongside the term alcohol abuse. Save the cocktailing for after the sex, so you don't find yourself as useless as voting.

— authored by Hugh Mungus