Rock Hard: George & Wendy Do Viagra
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.
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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!