Below you will find the text, more or less, of the standup routine I did as part of “Stand and Deliver.” I also sang three songs and took part in a skit called “Everything you wanted to know about male genitalia (but were afraid to ask on Facebook).”
The opening night performance was videoed, and may be available on Youtube at some point. You can hear my versions of the songs I performed, “Old Dog,” “Almost Talked About It,” and “Fire Sermon/Burning Woman” at my Soundclick and Reverbnation sites, and on Facebook. Sorry, you’ll have to wait for the video to check out the skit…the rest of the show was amazing, too…
and now, here it is….
Everybody’s all about overcoming their addictions, but there’s one that nobody questions: mens’ addiction to orgasm. Oh, sure, we talk about “healing from sex addiction,” but that just means restricting yourself to getting your fix from one dealer, and no more than once or twice a day…well, maybe three or four times a day, as long as it’s from the same dealer! Meanwhile, male orgasm addiction is the chief cause of unwanted babies, sudden marriage syndrome, angry women, and stained mattresses.
Let’s face it, male orgasm is a fix—a temporary release from tension that doesn’t solve your underlying existential problem, and leaves you needing it again in just a few hours. If it’s you and Rosey Palm, hey, no problem, except the self-pity—but most guys prefer to “cultivate a relationship” with a woman or a guy who’ll give them their orgasm fix, who’ll be a kind of human syringe and satisfy that craving and won’t resent it—too much, at first, anyway.
Now, please note that there’s a 180-degree difference between men’s and women’s orgasms. Women’s orgasms are, you could say, “implosive”–the energy inflates a woman, in a certain way, and leaves her larger, in some sense, than she was before, and I’m not talking pregnancy or body fat here. Male orgasm, on the other hand, is “explosive”–a big, brief flash of light and noise, followed by the guy collapsing and going to sleep and leaving his partner to figure out what to do with the wad of spoo that’s in or on their body, or wetting the bed, or all three. No wonder female resentment builds.
See, nobody understands the idea that guys mostly don’t need to come. Guys act like it’s some kind of torture not to, once they’re aroused. Well, they’re half right. If you don’t know what to do with your sexual energy besides spurt it out, your nuts can drive you nuts, no joke. But, if you do know how to use that energy, how to send it up your spine and into your belly, heart, and brain, you can evolve yourself like all the New Agers like to gush about, even though most of them don’t have a clue.
And it’s kinda the same for womens’ orgasms—giving a woman who’s full of herself an orgasm is just going to inflate her ego, while pleasing a woman who understands her place in the cosmos, to get all cosmic for a minute, will give her more energy for getting higher—in the real, true original sense: having better perspective on her surroundings and able to see further. But that’s another subject. Guys, find yourself a cosmic woman and give her all the orgasms you can, and bask in that glow—she’s got a hotter fire and fancier fireworks than you’ll ever, uh, come up with on your own. As for women on an ego trip—leave ’em alone, no matter how cute and enthusiastic they are at first, ’cause you’ll just be feeding their neuroses when you do them. I could tell you stories, believe me! Schtupping the clueless will not give them a clue!
OK, gay dudes—I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you. My gay experience is very limited– the only man I’ve ever been with is me. You know, nobody ever admits that playing with yourself is a homosexual act—dude, that’s a schlong in your hand!–but that’s another topic, too.
Now, there are times and situations where I think male orgasms are appropriate. One of them, of course, is for making babies. At this point in history, that’s going to be, at most, a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. The other is when, or more likely if, you’re practicing alchemy and it’s time to mix the red and white essences together and cook them in the crucible—but I’m crazy to start talking like this in public. I’ll have several secret societies wanting one or both of my heads on a pointed stick—so you’ll have to do your own research on that topic. I’ve said way too much already.
(At this point, I am chased off the stage by a cast member shouting, “Get him!” I cry out, “WHO WILL HELP THE SON OF A POOR WIDOW?!”….honi soit qui mal y pense, baby….