IN ANSWER TO DAVID PRICE'S "SEX IS THE MOTHER OF DEATH

Sex is death in that it tortures us guys utterly without end from about 12 -13 years old. It is our constant companion 24/7, raging within like the coal fire at Centralia Pennsylvania and continues for decade upon decade, upon decade. Hotter and hotter it burns. 

We catch ourselves doing such unspeakable things such as looking up girls dresses, not on occasion ALL THE FUCKING TIME, EVERY CHANCE WE GET and if we don't get the chance, we'll make a chance. If we break our necks turning to catch a glimpse of Cathy and Mary Ts, Lunchlady's, Unbreakable's, and Cartouche's, Fireeyes's, Gwndolyn's, trilogy's,and diva's. Buffy's, Nikki's, Stephanie's, Leah's, Amanda's (Yeah, you too tink) ahemmm, "legs" in History class, well it's a small price to pay.  

To peer down a cleavage at 16? This is like looking into our own future, it’s so captivating, Romantic Poetress, Linnn, Blittie, Heidibeth, Mary t, Sommyr, you all knnow who you are, we simply cannot look away, in fact if we do, I'm told our eyes will simply remain where they are as we walk away, tearing themselves from their sockets. I tempted that phenomenon, tonight in fact, at the grocery store. I now have a massive contusion of the right eye and a torn retina of the left eye and I’d only moved three inches.  I had to tell the wife that the new bread aisle turned over just as I was turning to go down the aisle.

There are no ebbs nor tides, it’s a full onslaught, attacking our minds so that only some raw meat parasite from Venezuela eating our brains out will end the incessant, screaming within "get some ass! get some ass. Get some ass!...................................................."

Yet we are continuously shunned and cast off by the objects of our sexual desires time and time again for years and years. Oh there’s the occasional Thursday night, "but goddammit get it over with quickly, I don't feel like this tonight!"

Thursday nights soon turn to the first Saturday of the second month of each year, then to the last night of the 3rd month of the 5th decade and the ultimate - feel lucky if you even get any once before you die -- all the while those boyhood hormones are still nagging, still pushing and screaming in our ears "get some, get some now or we're going to send your ass to the insane asylum.”

Suddenly, we find ourselves in our late 50s and 60s and the hormones have decided to jump ship, leaving us without the now familiar companion driving us towards our sexual desires. We wake up one morning and they're gone, just like that! Like last night was their long ago prearranged departure schedule.

That's it?  You're gonna fuck with our minds for forty or fifty years then sneak out on us in the middle of the night?  Well fuck you too.

It's not enough that our rudder is no longer straight and true, but the total abandonment of our life-long friends the hormones are never to be heard from again. It's as though they've taunted us for decades and are now sitting on a rooftop laughing their asses off while their very disappearance sends us walking in circles like a rudderless ship.

The comfort of daily torture over the past years has had a paralyzing Stockholm effect upon our minds and we wish for them to return every morning, to torture us some more, just so we can feel the familiar old drive again, even if it’s just in our imagination that we’d have the proverbial ice cube’s chance in hell in “getting some.” Hell, imagination is better than nothing.

But there they sit, upon their roosts and cackle at us like Heckle and Jeckle until we simply search for the grim reaper for some sort of companionship. I have it on very good word (my own) that this is the very reason women outlive men - heckling hormones. Hecklng hormones sending us to hell