Looking for new writers and graphic designers!

Come to our meetings every Sunday night at 8:30pm 5th floor of Lerner (near the student government office).
All are welcome.

Buy a T-Shirt

Do you love animals? Or sodomy? Then buy a Fed T-shirt!

About Us

We have a long and storied history. Learn more about us...

all porn, all errors, all the time
Issue 18.9: DOOM
Posted: April 22, 2003

The Confessions of a Burgeoning, Fecund Fury

Bill McLaughlin

Amy Phillips
The author and his date, both sans pants.

There are just some things real men don't do, no matter what. A real man doesn't watch figure skating, even if it's on Fox right after When Good Tarantulas Bite off Your Nut Sack: Part 4. A real man doesn't urinate sitting down, even if he's already on the throne dropping a nugget. A real man doesn't treat a woman with respect, no matter how much that bitch begs and pleads. And a real man never admits that, at any point in his life, no matter how remote the situation, he ever failed to get, you know, the jimmy swingin' (the flagpole flyin', the redwood rockin'). But it happens to everyone. And the world needs a solution.

Now, unlike men, it's normal for women to have special personal problems. If perchance a woman were to wake up feeling not so fresh, she could casually purchase any one of a great variety of products from her neighborhood drugstore that would have her playing tennis and going horseback riding in no time. Alas, men can only dream about learning to gracefully ride elegant horses simply by inserting weird shit into a bodily orifice. Not that a real man would ride a horse, unless he was in the West, and he had a gun, and he was shooting people who belonged to an ethnic group different from his own.

When a man has special personal problems, his options are nowhere near as clear-cut or hassle-free. He has to choose between a few fairly unpleasant options:

The "Ancient Culture" Approach: Kill something that looks tough, cut off its doodle, grind doodle into a fine powder, eat doodle powder. Though it is an old-time favorite, this option is increasingly unpopular today, as man-hating feminists and other tools of the liberal establishment enforce so-called "Endangered Species Acts" in order to keep all the best doodle for themselves.

The "Bob Dole" Approach: He was too old to rock his wood but he was too young to die. Face it, a real man does not ask his doctor about E.D. A real man doesn't have a doctor. A real man eats his pork rinds and drinks his beer and shoots his neighbors and hopes to go in his sleep the Good Lord willing.

The "Hippie" Approach: Smoke weed. Try it. It works. I swear.

"But wait," you say, "that last one didn't sound so bad." And I grant you that it is not, in fact, so very bad. But John Wayne wasn't a pot smoker. And John Lennon wasn't a man. As cute as hippie chicks may be, it's about time you quit the ganja in favor of Camel Reds and rubbing alcohol if you ever want to be half the man your daddy was.

All hope, however, is not lost for the male of our great species. I have made the greatest breakthrough in erectile science that history has ever seen! It happened quite by accident too. It all started one recent Saturday night, when I was running around Carman Hall in a giant gorilla suit trying to scare the bejesus out of innocent freshman girls (the not so innocent ones had already headed out to the West End with the fake IDs they made by gluing a photocopy of mom's driver license onto the six of clubs). As I marauded through the dorm, I noticed a strange itching in my crotch. At first I thought it was jock itch, but all of a sudden I realized I was feeling the thrill of rocking an enormous raging hard-on in a borrowed pair of pants! I was wearing a giant gorilla suit, and I finally felt like a man, damn it! I pounded my furry chest and bellowed ear-shattering ejaculations. Vivid scenes of wild doggy-style ape love from National Geographic Home Entertainment permeated my consciousness. I had never felt so alive.

Since then, crack research teams at Columbia's Health Science Campus have clinically proven my assertion word for word. If you wear a gorilla suit, you will get an incredible erection. There are no unmanly side effects like nipple baldness or testicular implosion. And hell, it's always sort of liberating to wreak violent havoc while wearing a mask. So there you have it: a sexual solution for all the wannabe manly men out there. Gorilla suits are going to be the next big thing. I can feel it! A lollipop to anyone who can guess where!