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Jan 21st 2006
Exactly 3 years from today I died. Then I was just another teenager, blinded, seeking direction, thirsty for knowledge, beautiful things, all the time holding hard a rope that directed me in the good and the bad. It wasn’t suicide, or normal biological death. To be completely honest, I do not know what kind of death it was, why I died, nor was there anyone or anything that caused it. All I know is that I died, and with me died the little teenager, the blindness, those insecure illusive directional arrows, and the hard rope broke. The thirst for knowledge and the beautiful things remained there forever. I daresay they became stronger, deeper, and somehow sucked the contrast, tone and values away from everything else imaginary. Even from death itself.
I still remember vague sequences from that sad day for the people who knew me. It was raining. The sky, or something that looked like one, had gray nuances and the wind deformed softly their empty eyeshades, freezing their sad numb faces and bringing tears of sorrow.
For me was completely different. I felt secure watching my coffin surrounded by people. By people... And as everyone cried I felt for the first time happy, somehow… I cannot never explain it fully how I really felt. Is it right to feel happy when someone dies? And when you see yourself inside the tomb, should you smile? What would ‘the world’ say? Does that make me evil?
I remember that I left them for a while doing their own rituals… Suddenly it became dark, very dark, and I also remember myself not being scared, but surprised. I was always being told that in the end, if you’re a good person you’ll see only white. Again, I thought: ‘Was I a bad person?’
Part 1 – God Is Evil
I started walking, maybe for a very short time, until I saw three doors. I stared at the first one. It said HEAVEN. I open it and enter inside. The first thing that catches my attention is a priest. I cannot see his face, but I do not think too much detail of this is needed anyways… He is holding a child in his lap and apparently is playing with him something. A new game, I think, because I cannot recall memories of myself when I was much younger playing with sexual organs and other’s genitals. The priest’s voice started to get louder though, and the kid did not seem to be having much fun. I stepped forward; they both saw me. I simply looked at them. The priest covered his face, ‘God forgive me!’, and run. I didn’t bother, just continued walking, thinking about the priest my good catholic parents had hired for my funeral…
On another corner lay a dark colored man and, believe it or not, sitting on a chair there was Jesus Christ talking to him. Up in a big golden throne was God. I walked up to them, but I did not say anything to Jesus. Apparently, since the first moment I was dead, the being I dedicated my whole short life seemed to me just an emotional poet who sacrificed everything for human literature.
‘Hello, my son. Welcome home!’
‘Why did you kill me God?!’ I said simply. My question surprises the other man and as he stands up he asks:
‘Yeah! Hey God, I never asked you… why did you let me die too? You are evil god!’
‘My good son… You were praying while TITANIC was taking you deep down the pacific. You should have swim. I gave you your brain so you can learn how to swim! You are an ignorant fool!’
‘But… but… I thought that you gave me my brain, my body, my whole life so I can believe and follow your path.’
God is quiet. After a while he smiles and answers: ‘Forget about that. Now you are here with me.’
I look at the man indifferently:
‘That is right. You can wonder all day in the magnificent holy fields of Heaven, listening to quiet and peaceful beautiful melodies; no more stupid people from whom you can get second hand smoke. Now you are going to enjoy Eden’s fresh air. Give it a try and maybe you will find Led Zepplin here.’
‘Wow! That sounds cool! Hey God, is that true?’
‘Yes, my son’ comes his voice.
‘Thank you father! I had always faith in you. Bless thy word, the Holy Spirit and…’
‘But there is no more sex.’ I add with a diabolical smile.
God gives me a look that can make even the devil run away… and then says to the man:
‘Sex is for the animals like the Devil. Animals are only good for food, plus they evolve. Did you know that catholic priests and nuns are not allowed to reproduce or get married?’
I give another smile to these words. God raises his voice more.
‘They are devoted to me, so I shall give them peace here. If you carnal pleasure I will send you in Hell to the Devil. There is the place for it, and that is like going back to life. Misery! He is very evil for every good thing that he gives to you! Always! Come on my son (God winks at him) you have been living in earth for 32 years…’
As God finishes the man becomes sad and all I can hear are the words ‘GOD YOU ARE EVIL!’
I walk away. I know I will not find any answers here.
Part 2 – Other forms of religion are evil
The second door opened easily as the first one. On the golden placate was written ‘Allahu Akbar*’. I enter and I see two silhouettes talking quietly inside a cave.
‘I am sorry Mohammed. I’ve been bad, a cheater, killer, liar, evil… Forgive me.’
‘I’m sorry, but it is up to Allah to decide’
(crying; murmuring the Kuran)
‘By the way, your niece, I heard, is posing “artistic” nudes for the GC!’ The other guy gets very angry and starts to scream.
‘And I thought you were the Good One! But you are evil too! Allah, Allah…’
‘Please, estakfurulla, bismilah… I just mentioned a fact, just to open a conversation, you know, until he comes for your final judging.’
‘Okay, okay. I am sorry Mohammed, but you are a little bit evil; just a little bit. (He shows his pinky’s nail)
‘Most of us Muslims live in poor countries; we have to grow to grow beard even when it’s hot; our women have to be covered in black head over heels. They are never independent. Sometimes we beat them up to death just for showing without consent their lips in public when they eat. They do not say anything. And what’s this mental tradition of cutting the skin of the penis? It hurts man… And not to mention the 5-times-a day- praying. Come on! (Whispers in the others ear) Did you know that Christians, Catholics and others pray to their God only once a day, usually, before they go to sleep? I kind of envy them…’
‘Are you questioning Allah’s rules?!’
‘No, no! I’d be evil to do that, I accept everything for Allah’
‘Then are you being evil to yourself?!’ he asks.
The other does not answer just bites his dirty nails.
‘How many wives does He allow you now?’ the questioning continues.
‘Only four. He took my other four because he said I did too much killing’ The person who was questioning before looks around once or twice and says: ‘That’s kind of evil if you think about it. You’ve got to have fun once in a while, you know… That’s what females are made for…’ I smile and leave as they continue to talk.
Part 3 – Humans are evil
There it is. The last door… It looks beautiful and seductive from the outside. It doesn’t have a name. I wonder why… To my surprise I do not see anything else except a very artistic, big, blood on canvas painting of The Universe and some kind of book. I get closer to admire the many colors** and the beautiful red tones used. It was amazing and it opened my eyes even more. The details were stunning.
People
Killing
Cheating
Lying
Stealing
Committing adultery
Taking advantage
Being hypocrites
Sexually abusing
I look down at the black space, on the corner of the canvas. The signature reads HUMAN. I smile again; this time a more intelligent smile. Suddenly I am reminded of the book. I open it and realize that it is a guestbook. I start to read:
~ People will ignore their misfortunes and their interests when they are in competition with their pleasures. ~ The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. ~ There surely is in human nature an inherent propensity to extract all the good out of all the evil. ~ Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction. ~ Death? Why this fuss about death. Use your imagination, try to visualize a world without death! ... Death is the essential condition of life, not an evil. ~ Battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster and if you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes into you.
I cannot stop smiling. I take the pen and write on a blank page with a grotesque calligraphy Human Nature Is Evil Then I sing my name into the infinite list and realize that there is more to come. I close the book and everything becomes white, clear. I am back at my funeral.
People are crying sadly. I smile; a diabolic evil smile...
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The Forest
As we drove farther into the outskirts of Augsburg, looking out placidly across the top of cars, houses, and at the dogs running about, I got thinking, thinking how I felt being with Chris, about Chris. It was like I was cast into a spell, an enchantment, or perhaps a curse; very seldom did I ever feel like this. Normally I would feel like this only if I was in the presence of a great person, like my karate instructor in San Francisco, Gosei Yamauchi, or his father ‘The Cat’ Gogan, who was one of the few 10th degree black belts in the world. Normally I’d be high the whole next day. With Chris I felt the same way I knew tomorrow I’d be high all day, it was a natural high.
Once—I can’t remember when—I had read something about the poet Emily Dickinson, she was something like a recluse, but she made a poem indicating nature was her high, and I always remember that. How true this can be, grabbing the moment and cherishing it, absorbing it as if there was no tomorrow, and at the same time absorbing nature: the sounds and the heart beat mother earth, and sky; others humans, and the dogs and birds, all such things that at that moment surround you; they are all somewhat magical. I was learning, how to be a listener if anything and it entailed all things within your presence.
Chris was fully alive now, as I turned my head towards her delectation her steering wheel facing me, at which made the moment a little more interesting, as she felt good about me checking her out; a weary kind of sense, not defeat, just a good profile look; I thought dimly in my mind as she drove mile after mile: how could she afford to look so prim and proper all the time. Do her hair in a unique style, not a hair out of place, so it seemed. I guess in our own way we are all unique, I heard that someone say that someplace, not sure where.
An hour and a half had passed on by and she was still driving, and it was getting dark. She pulled into a wooded area; she said it was the outer rim of the Black Forest (otherwise known as the Eyebrow of the Woods), I think I heard of that forest in a fairytale book or at least that is where my mind said I got it from. An enchanting name, I must had said it my second self, that little person inside of all of us that we talk to: Black Forest, Black Forest…!
“So you see,” said Chris “…here we are!” She added her conclusive little smile to her face as she said that; as we entered the dark huge green forest, parking the car a little off to the side of a dirt road that lead into the deeper and more distant part of the forest, partly covered by trees and bushes now.
There was a chill in the air so I rolled up the window, as she turned on the radio for some music.
Very quickly and carefully she moved her thin reserved neck and shoulders into my area, she just starred at me, as if she was going to eat me up; as her left arm was lowered, it pulled out a bottle of Mosel-Saar-Ruwer wine, 1965 wine, -- I looked the bottle over 9.5% volume; I knew they had been making wine around this intriguing river and hilly area for close to 1700-years. It was good wine I had tasted it before, not sweat or dry, flowerily white wine to be exact.
“Now,” said Chris indignantly, but with the air of a certain point, “…let’s see what we can do with this battle.
We started to drink and laugh.
“Ah, yes,” I said to her, “you have a lovely profile.” She smiled and threw her head back.
“Well,” I thought out loud “… this is a good way to pass the night away, and begin romantic indecencies”-- she leaned over the center-divider of the bucket seats to kiss me. She opened her mouth, sunk her lips on mine, as she pulled her long legs to the under-part of the dash, she then started to unzip her zipper to her boots.
“This,” commented Chris “passes everything…I never did it in a car before.” She had drunk down 1/5 of the wine like a person drinking water.
“Chick,” said Chris, ”…come over here.”
I moved my body closer to hers. Everything seemed to be in the way. I could not back out of whatever was going to happen; and I knew what was in the makings.
She was starting to stretch her hands out: --her blouse went over her head, I just kept looking as she started to strip, I was growing, getting as hard as a pencil.
“Oh, damn Chick,” said Chris heartily as she touched my item. Just her saying that aroused me; then pulling off her bra, and her skirt up I seemed to become tranquilized somehow, my mind slipped to King Solomon, of all things, as he once defined the beauty of a woman’s body and how it was to measured for one’s pleasure by enjoying it fully, and this was all I wanted to do now—enjoy it, and I think Chris was feeling the same way for even though we were both a bit on the tipsy side we were fully aware of our responses, I had lost complete focus of the uncomfortable situation, as she did…
◊…now that she was almost completely stripped only her panties on, she curled up in a fetus position holding her legs and leaning back, then opened up her legs slowly… I thought what every on earth possessed her, yet who can predict women I told myself, and started to take off my cloths, quickly…getting out of this spill of sorts. I guess it is true, men like to observe, and women like to touch. I liked both. This was not dirty sex, this was pure sex, at its height, one might even say, it was like a painting; she painted the picture, she taught me how to enjoy what she had to offer.
“I’m going to get it all off in a minute,” I said, it was difficult working in this cramped space… she chuckled, “Slowly please, I can wait…”she softly said as she rested her head back and I caught my breath, that is what she wanted, that is, for me to calm down, yet remain hard and possessed with her offering: I think we both had multiorgasms
“I feel fine now –“ I said, adding, “cramped but fine…☺”
Chris opened up her arms I couldn’t back away after that, could I?
I told myself: I have a private room at the barracks…. Then said it out loud to her:
“Of course, -- next time…” said she, and we continued to make love for the third orgasm for me, for her, perhaps five or six.
We seemed to flop around the front seat finding the right position…’she‘s looking at me eeeeeeeee’, I told myself, I’m cramped, nothing to grab a hold of, her head leaning against the glass of the window. Without a word we continued: --my body heavy onto hers, my heart beating two-hundred ticks a minute, we both were hot, enmeshed in the moment, a lustful, and burning moment; I wanted to open the door, but feared the light going on and someone would see us, plus the air was cool, too cool. I had no escape we met each other’s eyes as I penetrated her. She looked again deep into my eyes as she tried to catch her breath, to make sure I was still alive I think. It was seemingly unfair for me to put her through this I thought, but the thought only lasted a half second, I found myself exploding … as my heart dropped to my feet, and again, and again, I exploded and burned as if I had opened myself up to a volcano; I had learned at that moment, the difference between happiness and pressure: happiness was listening to her talk before, and then came her smile, now the pleasure, sex; I hurt, this had never happened before.
“Nice evening, isn’t it?” I said as I started pulling her body closer to me.
“I hope you are not offended I am taking the lead?” said Chris.
“Not at all,” I said, adding, “I’ll catch up.”
“There are times,” said Chris, “when rules are made to be broken like now, them...mmm damn silly rules…” she pulled herself up a bit, “I stopped believing in those rules… this is one of those moments I want to remember…remember for a long time, even after I am dead.”
As we tried to untwist our bodies, we caught ourselves laughing at our odd situation. We had made love, and became a little more sensitive with each other…a little more possessive of each other, I guess that is the nature of things in a relationship, they are made to progress, or stop, one or the other, and it was never to take place again in the front seat of a Mustang I knew….
She laid her cheek against my hand.
“Chick.”
“Yes?”
“You realize don’t you, this can’t end here?”
“There’s no reason for it to end, is there?”
“No.”
She spoke some German words I didn’t understand, German mingled with English I should say: then somehow, she went silent…maybe she was taking time to remember the moment, digesting it; I didn’t know, nor did I want to try to guess, I just looked at her, her smile it seemed to promise something, grace; instinct was in it also, around her small enclosed eyes, as they opened and shut slowly they were weaving a web I do believe, “It won’t end here, I promise.”
Pleasant and agreeable-like a well-cultured woman she was, maybe too much for me, she opened the door, and dressed quickly, then got back in.
“Want a cigarette?” I asked, sitting up straight.
“No and neither do you. We are both restless it seems. Come over to me,” she started kissing me.
As she released her lips from mine, she sat upright now, pulled out a cigarette, lit it and started blowing smoke rings into the air.
“You know perfectly well, I’m very much attracted to you…yoouuuu… right?”
“I hope so, I feel the some way.”
“Luckily the wine deadens the bruises (discoloration).” I commented, she laughed and kind of stretched her back to put it back in place…”Me to,” she replied.
“I wish all relationships could start like ours, it is like saying let’s drop all the game playing and pretend we are on the fifth date, and cut the crap; I like you Chick, I like you very much…”
“The bruises will show up tomorrow,” I told Chris.
Kind of saying maybe we should go, but neither one of us seemed to be all that bothered with that so we simply started kissing again after her cigarette brake…it was a long and needed pause for me, for a second breathe, a refractory period I needed [from uninterrupted sex]; that is, having multiple orgasms drains a man. I’ve learned also, women don’t need this rest period; so in time I’d learn how to last longer, and perhaps stretch the orgasms thinner but again, longer (three hours at the most; and I did).
I thought in my head, she was having sex with me, and then that rich boyfriend she had; she was getting her multiorgasmic pleasures indeed, perhaps a secret to some women, for once they discover this, it is hard for any man to keep up with them, lest he be a superman of sorts. I did not even at that young age have the capacity to pass six organisms; five was my limit I learned. I was limp now; my penis had been as pointed as a scorpions tail a while ago.
As scary as it started out for me I thought my reactions afterwards was cool, I seemed to be letting things take their natural course. It was a dark and colorless evening. Grossly romanticized in such an unimpressive way (so I thought in the back of my mind), yet Miss Chris was perfect.
I thought to myself: maybe she might be annoyed with my lovemaking… I guess every man wants to please the woman, wife, girlfriend, the one he is making love to, or should want to please her, but most don’t; how can they, they pop too quickly. This is a fact, I’ve talked to men, and when they say they go so quick, no woman could get it on in that time period. A woman taught me how to hold myself from climaxing too early, thus allowing the woman to catch up—and therefore, allowing my female mate to get it on and enjoy. I know this evening went a little fast, but Chris was modest about it, like that other woman who had taught me, helped me, to help her, so we both could enjoy each other more; as my slowing down kept my penis hard longer, allowing her pleasure zone to become wider. This was something of the case in hand, but not completely.
Most men think they make love better drinking, but it’s far from the truth. Most men do not know how to make love, no one taught them, so all they do is f*ck, and that is not love, that is, if anything, a quick climax, like eating a big fat burger, and wiping your mouth in its enjoyment and then leaving the café only to find out: you got indigestion, and had you went to a nicer restaurant, ate slower, you’d never forget the meal.
I have experimented with that theory, and it is nine-minutes verse four-hours, I say four hours, but I knew in my head it was only one time I lasted four hours, two and a half was the norm.
I was thinking now—as Chris kissed me—how I owe some women a bit of gratitude for allowing me to have my pleasure and not returning it to them; that’s the caretaker in a woman I think. But women just don’t know men can learn. And men are too bull-headed to let women teach them what pleases them. I had learned a good lover was worth his weight in gold and even maybe a little more: sometimes they can be irresistible.
One could hardly tell her it wasn’t hastily done, our sex (to me it was) for it was, but she seemed to understand the circumstances, and we need not prove anything today, only allow our bodies to be sanctioned to the other. So I think we both felt. Lovemaking would improve as time went on.
“I’m afraid my lover, we will have to find better accommodations next time,” Chris said, smiling at me.
“Yes,” I hesitated, “absently,” I hesitated-- “I feel the same way.”
“It’s a little hard in such a cramped car luckily we are both a little tipsy….”
“I’m afraid I’m not, somehow I sobered up when you took your blouse off.” She smiled, with a grin.
“Yes. I sense you have, do you really like me Chick?”
“You are growing on me. And what is there not to like?”
She was like a schoolgirl at times, needing to be encouraged, to grow up, and needed to be admired. But she didn’t need permission to live, she was taking that—but I’m learning to appreciate women more, I told myself, and it seems the more I show appreciation, the more they respect me, and to be quite frank with myself, I need respect. And why not … the world will give it, if you demand it, and if not, let that part of the world go; so my second self, my mind’s eye, told me.
But then as I looked at her, if she really felt she was on death row, with cancer, maybe I was just a remedy for a while, and if so, so what, maybe I needed a remedy to make it through my time here in Germany; so seemed just to me.
8
The Spider and
The Web
A warm-wind had picked up it seemed, and April and May in Germany was a paradise of light-cool sunrays, it was a spring never to forget, Chris and I were growing on one another, like white on rice. More community drinking fairs were picking up and Chris and I tried to make a few, drink it up and eat and just go with the flow; it was a good time for living.
Chris and I were known throughout the guardhouse-barracks as lovers and a heat wave at that. She seemed to have a charm with my soldier friends, and often drove her German boyfriend’s Mercedes car to the gate, and about, showing off kind of, not only to me, but it seemed at times going out of her way to show it to the other guards. Most of my friends thought she had two cars, I simply did not up date them, if they were not in my way of thinking or inner circle—why squander my time; and in most cases they didn’t have a need to know; but Ski and a few other of my friends knew the truth. I felt: plus, I felt: why not let Chris make an impression at the guard shacks, if it helps her ego so be it. I do not think I was envious, rather amused. I’m sure somewhere along the line I’d have to deal with envy, but who at my age is envious, for what, I have a lifetime to catch up.
She flirted with the guards, and they all thought it cool. At night, if I had to work, she would bring me by a sandwich while on duty; in one way she got the guys a little jealous, or in lack of a better word, annoyed. And sometimes she would simply walk into barracks, which had about fifteen-guards some running around half naked from the shower room to their room, while others went visiting. She’d come knocking on my door. She’d spend the night with me, it was an improvement from the car, and for some reason we only went over to her house once in the following two months. I knew we were not fooling anyone at the guard-barracks, but we pretended to be secret about it anyway.
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Men’s sexual health is as important a topic of discussion as any other health related issue. Sexual awareness in men is on the increase and more and more men world wide are becoming aware of their sexual health. Specific medical research and clinical trials are being conducted to understand the effects of new drugs in treating various sexual conditions in men.
Erectile dysfunction (ED) or impotence is one such sexual condition that most men are scared off and its onset is considered with dread. This medical condition has multiple causes ranging from age, drug side effect, nervous disorder, injury or trauma. In the earlier stages it is generally considered trivial and ignored. But as the symptoms appear repeatedly the patient begins to suffer physically (lack of sexual activity) and psychologically (partners begin to ignore them). This is the stage when the panic sets in and if the condition is left untreated, it may turn disastrous for the victim.
Nowadays your doctor or a sexual health specialist will be able to diagnose this condition using a combination of verbal and physical examination methods. Once there is a confirmed diagnosis, treatment can begin depending on the patient’s medical and physical condition.
Viagra, containing sildenafil citrate, is used to effectively treat ED in men. It has a high success rate and its mild and short lived side effects make it a popular choice amongst doctors and patients. Viagra is sold as blue pills in dosage of 25mg to 100mg and can be taken once a day between 30 minutes to 4 hours before sexual intercourse.
Viagra’s mechanism of action is based on relaxing the smooth muscles of the penis resulting in increased blood flow causing an erection. Without sexual stimulation Viagra by itself should not cause an erection.
The compound sildenafil citrate, is also sold as a drug named Revatio which is used for treating pulmonary arterial hypertention (PAH). In this rare medical condition the right side walls of the heart tense up and may lead to heart failure. When Revatio is administered to the patient, it relaxes the tense right walls of the heart reducing the resistance and pressure, thus preventing a right-side heart failure. In fact sildenafil was initially synthesized for treating PAH. It was only later that its effect in treatment of ED was discovered.
Revatio is sold as white round pills to distinguish it from Viagra sold as blue diamond pills.
Like all medications these must be stored away from children in a cool place protected from direct sunlight and moisture. Remember never to share your prescription with others as your needs are unique. You should always use the medicines in the prescribed dosage and duration provided by your doctor. Overdose and off-label use of drugs can cause serious complications.
Always use all medicines under qualified medical supervision.
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Ok, so maybe you started smoking thinking it looked cool and that it might affect your sex life to look cool, or be grown up or rebellious or whatever.
You are of course totally correct in assuming that smoking affects your sex life. In fact, several recent studies have looked at exactly this question in regard to male impotence and found that there is a link between smoking and difficulties having an erection. Now tell me how cool is that? That is surely far too grown up, that is as grown up as your aged grandfather!
Smoking has been linked to coronary artery blockage, but now we know that arteries in the penis are damaged by smoking, too. In a study of men with penile artery blockage (average age 35), the smokers were significantly more blocked than non-smokers. And the more they smoked, the more their arteries were blocked. Since erections are mainly caused by blood flowing into the penis through arteries, unclogged arteries are very important in enhancing one's sex life.
Nicotine is a vasoconstrictor, meaning it tightens blood vessels and restricts blood flow. In the long term, it has even been shown to cause permanent damage to arteries. Since a man's erection depends on blood flow, researchers assumed smoking would affect erections. Studies have confirmed this time and again. In one study published in 1986 in Addiction Behavior, it was shown that just two cigarettes could cause softer erections in male smokers. Results are corroborated by a definitive study published in June 2001 that looked at all studies done on impotent men over the last two decades. The research showed that 40 percent of men affected by impotence were smokers, as opposed to 28 percent of the general male population. Interesting eh?
So what does all this discussion about impotence mean for women? During sexual arousal, the labia, clitoris, and vagina also swell up with blood, similar to a man's penis, enhancing sensation and arousal. If nicotine can restrict blood flow and cause erectile dysfunction in men, it can be assumed that blood flow is restricted in women as well, and may have a negative effect on sensation.
In the British Medical Associations report: "Smoking and Reproductive Life", the report states that Women who smoke take longer to conceive. Among smokers, the chances of conceiving fall by 10 – 40 per cent per cycle. The greater the quantity of cigarettes smoked, the longer a woman is likely to take to achieve pregnancy.
Cigarette smoking can also affect male fertility: smoking reduces the quality of semen. Men who smoke have a lower sperm count than non-smokers, and their semen contains a higher proportion of malformed sperm. By-products of nicotine present in semen of smokers have been found to reduce the mobility of sperm.
Of course, quitting smoking would also eliminate stained teeth, unhealthy skin, rapid accumulation of wrinkles on the face, and clothing, hair, and breath that stink of smoke. That might improve one's sex life. Decreasing your risk of cancer and heart disease — which also do tend to have negative effects on one's sex life — can also be sexy in the long run.
Smokers may have enjoyed a sexy image in the past, but research tells us that they are not "doing it" as often as non-smokers. Studies show that men between 25 and 40 years who smoked one or more packs per day had sex less often than non-smoking men of the same age. Another study suggested that carbon monoxide in the blood caused by smoking inhibits the production of testosterone (a hormone that creates sex drive).
Lastly, smoking affects fertility. Smokers' sperm come in many sizes and shapes - many of them not normal. Some have two tails or two heads, others have giant or tiny heads, and some have split tails. The more a man smokes, the worse the damage. Nicotine essentially poisons the sperm and its ability to fertilize an egg.
Smoking isn't good for your lungs or heart as is very well documented, and it certainly isn't good for your sex life. It is no longer cool. Are you sleeping with an inactive ashtray? Is your libido being smoked away?
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I yearn for a simpler time. Life in this modern age can be frustrating and scary, what with the global warming and the bad cholesterol and the high-definition reruns of 'The Nanny'. I long for a more peaceful existence, free from the complications of the twenty-first century lifestyle. I'm ready to re-adopt a few of our long-forgotten traditions, to recapture the halcyon days of yore. Yesteryore, even. I'm not screwing around here.
First, I'd like to go back to using surnames to describe peoples' professions. So, if I meet a Shoemaker, I'll know he can help me patch the holes in my sneakers. If I run into a Baker, I can ask for a 'doughnut hole', without worrying how exactly he'll interpret the request. And if a Parker happens to be around -- well, maybe he can finally get my car into my garage spot. Plus, he might be turn out to be Spider-Man. That would be sweet.
While we're at it, how about if we go back to riding horses to get around? Gas prices are high, pollution is terrible, and I for one am fed up with that creepy, big-eared 'zoom zoom' brat. Much better that we should saunter around the natural way, atop large domesticated hairy animals. We can ride twelve wide down the highway, trotting and cantering our way to the office. Sure, we'll all need stables -- and salt licks, and hay bales, and the level of poop in the streets would escalate, just a touch, unless you live in Paramus -- but it's a small price to pay to be rid of our mobile metal monsters. And just think of all the glue and Big Macs we'll be able to make with the 'leftovers'.
It doesn't end there, though. I think we should settle all of our differences the old-fashioned way, too, with a nice pistol duel. If it was good enough for the founding fathers, then why not us? Put away the fancy Glocks and rifles -- those things won't help you much, anyway, once we convert back to horseback travel. Have you ever heard of a 'gallop-by shooting'? Me, neither. We'll nip an awful lot of violence in the bud, if the would-be perps were forced to use ancient flint-lock pieces to do their dirty deeds. Those things are more likely to blow off your fingers than to take out your enemy. I'd think twice before stepping off ten paces against the guy who dissed my baby's mama, that's for sure.
I suppose the Internet is out, too -- if there's anything that screams 'modern technology', it's the internet. So we'll have to get our porn somewhere else, obviously. But also our communications -- email goes out the window, too. Maybe we can Pony Express parchments to each other, or learn to send 'leetspeak' instant messages via smoke signal. Of course, if the spammers get their grubby paws on that technology, they'll fill the skies with soot, selling their snake oil and combination butter churns/penis enlargers. And you thought pop-up ads were bad; at least nobody ever got black lung from one of those.
Finally, let's start talking like the old-timers -- sorry, I mean, 'olde-timers'. All the fancy new lingo and technical jargon around today -- let's throw it all away, and replace it with words like 'forsooth' and ''verily'. Sure, nobody knows what the hell those things mean any more, but is that really any different than technoweenie talk like 'phishing' or 'emoticon'? If we're going to be unintelligible, at least we can sound Shakespearean. That's my attitude.
Would any of these measures make our lives easier? Perhaps. Maybe we should ask the Amish, before we go to all the trouble. They certainly seem happy, raising barns and riding in buggies and not smoking or drinking or dancing or... wow. If we're really serious about going 'retro', I suppose we have to fall in line with all of that uber-observant religious mumbo-jumbo, too. I never thought about that. And there's no way I'm getting up before noon on Sundays, or giving up my three-margarita breakfasts. So, never mind. Maybe the modern life isn't quite so bad, after all. Verily.
