Rock Hard: George & Wendy Do Viagra

Written by George Tabb on . Posted in Posts.



Rock Hard
"You
want a treat?" I ask P.J., my Yorkshire Terrier, as I search through the
orange-floral tray on top of the kitchen counter. P.J. just tilts his head and
stares at me. "Okay," I say to my little pal, "just let me find
one."


Stuff like wheat germ oil
pills with Vitamin E, Natural Swiss Kriss Brand Tabs, blue-green algae ("nutrient-dense,"
whatever that means), echinacea, GTF Chromium, liquid lecithin and much more.
But what really caught my eye were the two blue pills with "Pfizer"
on them.


I’d asked Wendy what
they were a couple of weeks earlier, and she’d told me that her pals, Jack
and Lisa, two super-models who lived in our building, had given them to her.
"It’s Viagra," she told me. "Jack and Lisa say it’s
great fun to have sex with."


I asked her if this was
the same Jack and Lisa who smoked all that pot and took Ecstasy like it was
Flintstone vitamins.


"Lisa says it’s
great," Wendy replied. "She says it made her feel all warm inside
and it let Jack keep an erection for a long, long time."


I told Wendy that I had
no problem keeping an erection, as she damn well knew, it was the coming that
was tough. Because of the Prozac. She sighed.


And that was the end of
that conversation.


Now I found the Viagra pills
again, and called Wendy over to the kitchen.


"Ya wanna try these?"
I asked her. I was kind of in the mood anyway. I thought that the worse that
could happen was that I would have a heart attack from the pill and die. Nothing
worse than my last gig at CBGB when my band didn’t show up and I had to
get a bunch of "musicians" together to play "Freebird" and
"Pretty Vacant." The beer bottles to the head that night had really
hurt.


Wendy looked at the pills
and back to me.


"Well?" I asked
her, already feeling blood rush south.


"Okay," she said,
and with that, we both gulped them down faster than P.J. ate his T Bonz treats
that we hid on top of the refrigerator.


Forty-five minutes later
Wendy and I found ourselves on our queen-size bed. We’re lying in bed watching
some movie about a guy who took chemicals to see how they affected his sex drive.
Waiting to see when the Viagra would kick in. I look over at Wendy and her face
is all flush. Red as a tomato.


"How do you feel?"
I ask my squaw.


"Different," she
says, "warm. How about you?"


I look down at my sweatpants,
which now look like a Cirque du Soleil tent. "Dizzy," I reply. I was
quite lightheaded. But I felt something else. My feet. They felt good. Warm.


It was amazing. My feet
had been bothering me for weeks, and all of a sudden they felt warm and cozy.
And they didn’t hurt.


"Holy shit," I
say to Wendy, "this stuff is great for your feet. Your circulation."
I’ve tried everything to make my flat duck feet feel better. Massages,
Ben-Gay, whatever. Who would have thought it would be Viagra?


Wendy laughed, then asked
me about what Viagra was really supposed to do. I pulled down my pants and we
looked at my wienershnitzel.


Now, to say it was huge
is an understatement. I’m always huge. But now I was gigantic. Colossal.


"Wow!" exclaimed
Wendy.


"I know," I said.
"It’s huge. All the blood left my upper torso and is down there."


"I’m not commenting
on the size," Wendy tells me.


"Oh," I say, ego
somewhat deflated, but dick very inflated.


She tells me that my penis
is purple. With a tint of blue.


She was right. My dick was
the color of Concord Grape Mogan-David wine. As purple as the dresses those
hippies wear while spinning in circles at Grateful Dead concerts.


"Holy fuck," I
say to Wendy.


Then I started feeling it.


The pain.


"Ouch," I exclaim.
"It hurts!"


"Oh my God, are you
having a heart attack?" Wendy shouts.


"No!" I scream.
"It’s my balls! They hurt! Blue balls!"


Wendy looks at my nuts and
comments, "Actually, more like purple balls."


"Something’s happening
down there," I yell. I put my hands on my balls and actually feel stuff
shifting around. Kind of like when I get really bad stomach aches and actually
feel my intestines go into spasm.


"Well," says Wendy,
"we better do something about it."


And we did.


For like an hour.


Ninety minutes later I find
myself trying to piss with a hard-on. After having an orgasm, I was still as
erect as the Empire State Building.


"It didn’t shrink
down really small like it usually does," says Wendy.


And I didn’t even feel
like having sex again for relief.


Finally, I felt my urethra
open and the urine start to flow. Unfortunately, as most men know, pissing with
a hard-on is like spraying liquid out of a bottle on the "mist" setting.
My piss went everywhere but the toilet in a fine, fine spray. P.J. stood under
me the whole time, barking at what he thought was a new toy. Well, until he
got sprayed. Then he went and dried himself all over the couch like he does
after getting in from the rain.


An hour later, I was playing
Metal Gear Solid, a PlayStation game, in my sweat pants. Still having
that damn circus tent on my lap. When I play video games for a long period of
time, sometimes P.J. attacks the controller with his paws or teeth to make me
stop.


But not this time. He was
more interested in the thing in my lap. So he starts jumping on it and pawing
it like a trapped rat. Which Yorkshire terriers are bred to do.


Then he decides to use his
teeth.


It was then I really
wished I’d found his rawhide bone.



The new and last F.Y.P.
album just came out on Recess, and it’s called Toys That Kill. Actually,
that’s the name of Todd and Company’s new band. F.Y.P. is going to
become Toys That Kill, so it’s not so much of a farewell album as a "hello"
album. Those wacky Recess kids. Anyway, this one rocks much like their last
one, My Man Grumpy, and has songs like "1000 Dead Cheerleaders,"
"Come Home Smelly" and "Belittle My Brain." But my favorite
song here is "Damage." After hearing that song I can truly say that
for a pop-punk band they are quite retarded. Way to go!


If you’ve heard the
name the New Mexikans before, it’s probably because Ned Vizzini, who writes
for this paper, plays bass for them. Although he calls himself Ned "Edison"
here. Why? I don’t know. Maybe he thinks he’s a bright bulb. Anyway,
his new three-song EP "Paradise" is out on GNYC Management and it
rocks. The songs are "Broken Eye," "Paradise" and "Kidicarus."
Good stuff from a band with a guitar player who uses more pedals than a daisy
has.


Exxxile on Main Street
is the new compilation record from XXX Records, out of Los Angeles. Duh. Where
else? Anyway, bands on this thing include such favorites as the Angry Samoans,
Adolescents, Jane’s Addiction, the Exploited and Gun Club. Sure you’ve
heard all these bands and all these songs before, but what the fuck. It’s
all on one CD now. Of course, I suppose you could always head over toward Napster…


Out now on Alternative Tentacles
is the new Los Infernos CD called Rock and Roll Nightmare. And it is.
In a good way. Loud, fast and aging rapidly, this band kicks out tunes like
"Gimmie the Gun" and "Dead and Gone." The only problem with
this record is that two of the guys in the band photo wear those stupid ska
hats. Pussies.


Okay, follow me here. Out
on NYC Records Ltd., a label out of London, comes a band called Pillbox, from
Godknowswhere. But I hear possibly South America. Anyway, they play really cool
tunes and sound like a cross between the Pretenders and Patti Smith. The lead
singer, Susan Hyatt, is so fucking sexy I swear I can smell her pheromones on
this CD. The music has a beat so steady I can move my wrist in time to it. Yeah,
baby!


You really have to love
anyone who calls their band The Dictator’s Bitch. So it is with this self-released/self-titled
CD that I praise the ground Rich Casella, the guy who made this record, walks
upon. Anyone who does a cover of "Superfreak" as sung by Johnny Carson,
"Yesterday" as sung by Nixon or the original tune "My Brain"
rules. Good funny rockin’ stuff here. Bitchin’!


The Migraines, that silly
punk-pop band out of Indiana, just released a live CD from CBGB called, well,
Live at CBGB’s
on Sick Duck Records. They play all their hits like
"Shut-up," "I Wanna Be a Ramone" and "She Bought New
Boobs." Oh yeah, they also do a tune called "Betty Crocker, Punk Rocker."
I played it for Nick, my stepdad, and he said, "Whoever wrote that song
is a retard."


Bad Religion’s The
New America
rocks like all their other stuff. While I love listening to
them on my stereo, I like it better when they do songs in the background of
video games. Oh, this one is produced by Todd Rundgren, some guy I hear who
once "did it" with the famous Bebe Buell.


If you’re the kind
of cat who digs garage tunes, then you’ll love the new groovy disc by the
Forty Fives called Get It Together on Ng Records. This baby makes me
want to shag all the hot foxes and jam out on my Univox guitar. Neato, keen
and boss are three words that best describe this record. Far out!


MxPx. Or is it mxpx. Or
is it MXPX. Or is it M.X.P.X. Or is it M.x.P.x. Or is it… Never mind. These
guys used to be Christian Punk Rock. Now they’re just punk rock. They lost
the Christ bit. Or at least hid it. I guess Jesus doesn’t sell that many
records anymore. Maybe Satan will make a comeback. God knows Slayer would love
that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because the first person this band thanks
on their new CD, The Ever Passing Moment, on A&M, is God. To hell
with that.


Lastly, I just got yet another
new Queers record on Hopeless called Beyond the Valley of the Assfuckers.
Ramones-type songs here include "Just Say Cunt," "I Hate Your
Fucking Guts," "My Cunt’s a Cunt" and "I Just Called
to Say Fuck You." Hello? Joe King? What? I cunt hear you. Doh!


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