VILE-agra (n) – any of a family of pharmaceutical equivalents to duct tape and popsicle sticks whose purpose is to extend the recreational function of the human male reproductive organ far beyond its useful life. Common names include Viagra®, Cialis® and my favorite chuckle, Levitra® (from the Latin levitas – rise; although a more accurate brand name might have been a derivation of the name Lazarus, as I believe it was he who rose from the dead).
When “things” (seriously, I’m not being facetious now) are no longer necessary for the function for which Mother Nature intended them, they stop working. For example, when we’re no longer popping out rugrats, we stop releasing eggs and our ovaries just hang there. Look at the top of this page. See them? There they are — relaxed and happy; just chillin’ and hangin’. Here’s another: when the breastfeeding stops, guess what happens? We no longer produce milk and our little boobies just hang there too! Notice a pattern here?
Men, once you reach a certain age – that is, when you’re so old that you’ll be sharing diapers with your newborn spawn – Mother Nature takes over where your alternate brain typically fails you. Once you see your prime in your rear-view mirror, honey, “erectile dysfunction” is a misnomer; it’s not supposed to function anymore.
It’s time to retire Oscar Mayer.
But, you croon, how are you supposed to live without him – after you’ve been loving him so long? Well, darlin’ that’s where the other tools in that belt of yours take over. You know – that cornucopia of skills you developed over your three to five dozen years of experience at making us happy. Yes! We love the amuse bouche with which you earlier teased us only fleetingly that you can now serve up as the main course! We love the incredible friends you previously relegated to second-class citizenship in your rush to Wee Willy’s fireworks. We love the sweet nothings you whisper in our ears – especially in a duet with some serious mustachioed nuzzling. We love being kissed, held, caressed and cuddled (didn’t Ann Landers – or was it her sister, Abby – teach you anything?). Hey — here’s a thought: titillate our minds! Talk to us! Guys, there are a myriad of things we enjoy far more than that which you seem to find so worship-worthy — for example, a good night’s sleep (don’t forget the spooning, please). And honestly, given a choice between a rock and a hot stone massage …
Am I saying that women – particularly those of us who now have finely developed patinas – don’t enjoy sex? Oh, far from it, especially when you’re — uh, very creative. But I am saying that one of our much-maligned past presidents had a point. You might want to clarify the definition of “sex.” Let’s evolve a little further; perhaps we could simply replace sex with making love. After all, it wasn’t your tallywacker we fell in love with; it was the man it accessorized.
By the way – and I mention this only because we love you and we need you here to kill our spiders – that shit can kill you! If you have liver, kidney or heart problems – as so many men your age do – that little stiffy can be your last! This woman would prefer to be buried in the embrace a pair of strong, loving arms than to bury six feet under a cold, necrotized nibblet — even if its life insurance premiums are all paid up.
So, Mr Winkie has had a long (I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here), productive and happy reign. His time has come and he’ll be in good company. Retire him.
And let him just hang.