By Silence Doless
So I was at a party the other day, (Well, night really. I was at a party the other night, specifically the last one that happened. Yeah, last night. It was last night that the rest of this sentence, the subject of which you have by now no doubt forgotten, happened) and it had eighteen wheels! (Just kidding about the eighteen wheels bit, I was just testing you to see if you remembered the subject of the sentence, which was that I went to a party. I am well aware that the sentence, “I went to a party and it had eighteen wheels” makes no logical sense whatsoever, so please if you’re a Reason Nazi and reading this (as opposed to injecting this), hold your angry letters. I am also aware that injecting a printed humor column, as opposed to reading one like a normal laws-of-physics abiding person, is totally absurd. I added it for comedic value only, as it pointed out an exploitable redundancy in my own writing. As Newton himself once famously said, “There is no earthly power that can in any way transform the knowledge of a printed humor column into an injectable substance…except on Sundays”)
Right, so I was…I was…what was happening to me again? Damn it, I completely lost my train of thought. I’ve made so many implausible detours of logic it makes Boston driving seem humanly possible. Okay, I’m going to start over. Here we go.
Last night I went to a party. Now this particular party was a pajama party, meaning that everyone had to be wearing sleepwear However, I didn’t have any sleepwear aside from a pair of green Fubu pants that were in the laundry. I thought about showing up wearing only my boxers, because that’s what I usually sleep in, (If you thought THAT was too much information, just wait until I say scrotum!) however, I deemed it too risky as none of my boxers have a button in front. Why is it that boxers are manufactured without that button? Is it some shrewd money saving scheme, or do underwear companies legitimately want their customers flopping out every time they make sudden movements? In my opinion, this is solid evidence to support the Gay Mafia’s existence. Anyway, I decided against wearing boxers for the above wang related reason, and instead arrived dressed for sleep in jeans and a T-shirt. Obviously this did not go over well, and I was quickly whisked away to be properly pajama-ed. Moments later I rejoined the party wearing a skin-tight lacy black see-through top with pink polka dot shorts that barely covered my upper thighs.
Now, this brings me to the topic, (Finally, right? I mean, who introduces the topic more than halfway through his column? You must be thinking, “Jesus, I start reading this column, and it’s nothing but huge parentheticals which are barely related to the topic, which he JUST introduced! And when I say huge parentheticals, I mean HUGE parentheticals. The digressions go on for ages! I wouldn’t be surprised if he started writing about gerbils reciting Hamlet in space. Imagine that! How could you even describe something so absurd? Pop? What a prick this Silence Doless is!) and a lemon in a freezer. (Just kidding. This week’s topic is not “and a lemon in a freezer.” Hey, it was just a joke. A joke I tell you! Put me down you crazy Nazis! Okay, okay I’m starting over.)
This week’s topic is being comfortable in one’s own masculinity. I sure am, are you? If you’re not sure, take this handy quiz. NOTE: Results may vary if you are female.
Do you have a penis?
Do you think about your penis?
Have you ever thought about someone else’s penis?
Do you watch “Scrubs”?
If you answered “No” to any of the above questions, you are clearly not comfortable with your own masculinity. If you answered “No” to all, you could be in the closet. If this is the case, please, for your own sake, stop grunting, spitting, swearing, having sex with women, etc. and come out already! It’s okay to be gay, whatever the pope may say. Be proud of who you are. If the whole world ever seems like it is about to crush you under its intolerant heel, just take this humor column and inject it into the world’s toe. Whether it laughs or cries, or just gets pissed off, the fact that it has a giant syringe sticking out of its foot should buy you enough time to get away. Besides, if you stay locked in that closet forever, bad things will start to happen. Sure, you’ll be locked in there with Tom Cruise, but he’s clinically insane these days anyway. However the real danger comes from within. Well, within the family, really. As soon as the Gay Mafia hears about your denial, they’ll smack you so hard on the exposed wang you’ll wish you didn’t have one (refer back to quiz question A). So please folks, let’s strive to make a better world, and stand up for who we are, whoever we are (Oh, and by the way: scrotum).