Don't Point That Thing At Me...

**Re-published by request.  Original post appeared Sept 2010.


Let's face it kids; there are some things in this world that we just don't always have the time and patience to deal with.

As a kinda young, sorta hip, reasonably sexy woman, I am often faced with things that I don’t want. Emails about hair loss or Viagra, for example. Brazilian waxes. Math. And more often than not, boners.

 

They seem to come out of nowhere, with the least provocation. I mean, the simple act of waking up in the morning will excite a man to the consistency of a rock. He doesn’t look expectantly at his sheets and say, “Well, are you going to finish this, or what?” Yet my opposable thumbs mean I’m eternally responsible for getting rid of Mr. Wiggly.

Now normally, I heart penises. Really, they’re great. A little funny-looking, not exactly a box of kittens, but no big whoop... sometimes, though, you’re just not in the mood to deal with them. Sometimes you just want to go home, watch the last 6 episodes of "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" and Google random stuff.

So what’s a girl to do? A hand job may sound like a good idea but it can quickly become a trap; I learned when I was 17 that the ol' I’m-sure-you-can-do-it-better-yourself excuse will only mean you have a different job. A job called blow. In order to escape both of these, you’ll need to be crafty. Tricky. Horrifically unattractive. Here’s a list of my favorite lines for penis-proofing your evening:

-"Your wiener is so cute!"  Men HATE it when you call their junk "cute".  If he’s Jewish, be sure to note that he has a kosher wiener. Or, if hooking up with a Chinaman, call it a “Wang” and tug on the corner of your eyes while hissing “You like flied lice?” And I’ve found that black men don’t particularly like it when you refer to their penis as a “G-g-g-G UNIT!”

-"Don’t you love my new veneers? They look great, but my teeth are so sharp!" Elaborate using words like “shred” and “puncture”, and make many analogies to the recent Florida shark attacks.

-"I never knew you could get herpes of the hands, but there you go!" Drive the point home with a needlessly complex story about your “Summer of the Goats” on your Uncle Tucker's farm in rural Kentucky.

-"Can you help me put in my diaphragm?" Look, I don’t even know what the hell a diaphragm is. But I think they’re roughly the size and shape of a Frisbee and have something to do with electromagnetism. Chances are, he doesn’t know either. Just pull a random object out of your purse, like an eggbeater or bottle of Nyquil, and lay it expectantly in his hand. When he hesitates, burst into a smile and say, "Oh, Nick! I knew you wanted to have a baby!" This works especially well if his name isn’t Nick.

-"Guess what I have back at my place…?" His eyes will light up eagerly, visions of whipped cream and lesbian twins dancing in his wee head. Wait a few beats to up the anticipation, and then slap your limp wrist against your chest and slur, “Durrrrrrrr”!!! Do this again and again, upping the ante each time, adding drool, a mild seizure, and maybe even a pants crapping or two for good measure.

-"Damn, I'm ITCHY AS A MOTHERFUCKER!!" That's it. Works like a charm.


As you can see, it’s no easy task successfully diffusing a boner. But with good communication and a little thing I like to call “fake cramps”, you’ll be in a cab and on your way home in no time! Done and done!