My penis no longer knows who it is or what it's here for. It follows me around like a lost soul in the later stages of dementia. When I urinate it takes so long to get operational that if I'm in a public toilet, other men think I'm 'cottaging.'
Nothing could be further from my mind, I'm not of the same sex kind and don't envy those who are. If I had my way I'd be like the 'Devil' Jack Nicholson played in 'The Witches of Eastwick'; with a track record of millions of seductions down through the ages to my name.
With Cary Grant's looks and tones of honeyed gold, I'd have made them eternally grateful that they'd sold their souls to me, with 3 portions of ecstasy for breakfast, dinner and tea if they'd wanted it.
My reality's more like that of 'Suicidal Sid', the manic depressive (bipolar?) kid out of VIZ comic, (which I don't read anymore.) He's my favourite cartoon character of all time; his cartoon life runs parallel with mine, except that his is more real.
I haven't come (excuse the Freudian pun) on WOL to start a one-man campaign against the 'Muffia' (more like 'shaven haven' these days), I know that I'll be quickly squashed like a bug if I try; as much by the Sir Galahad's who rush to defend the ladies honour as by the 'ladies' themselves. I'm probably already strongly in danger of being booted off for using the 'C' word in a derogatory manner. I've spent my whole deprived, tortured life trying to fathom out the female psyche without coming up with any conclusions; you're either 'magnetic' or you're not; I unfortunately come into the latter category; hence my jaundiced view of the 'fair sex.'
For any one who's interested, I took one dose of my anti depressants and decided they're not for me, if I'm going to go demented I'd rather be fully compos mentis leading up to it; Mirtazopine was like being whacked with a chemical cosh, and I only took the low dose version; 45 mgs of that and I'd have been a zombified basket case for at least a week afterwards.