I suffer from Premature Mojo

It’s so demeaning to have to be cognizant of your surroundings when you have lived your life in a defiant disregard. It’s like relearning to walk without the physio, pain or land mines … just chipping away at the independence of manhood as one ages ( although this shit is prevalent among newborns, so the humiliations start on a subatomic level)

It’s Official! My ball sac is molting…I hope it’s a surprise, like polished red python underneath…I swear, I would run out and buy a matching pair of Lucchese cowboy boots on layaway as this process might take a while

Seriously, it’s a new sensation to think you might have contracted leprosy in the fruits and vegetables section of your supermarket- as these days I’ve been standing up to pee at the gym..next to the machines which is pissing the trainers off to no end…

I don’t know what to expect on this roadmap to Styx-I hope the ferry has room for cars because if I have to be a pedestrian for the rest of eternity, that would be total hell…

So I’m sitting on a fence, figuratively speaking…. as in my present swollen state, sitting on it would be fraught with pain and splinters…

Help, I’m small testicles trapped in the body of a freakish ball sac…first it was the politics of sex: actually seeing the stupid consequence of random hook ups. The  breaking up of engagements and marriages, and little girls hearts, all because they actually cared for you…But now it’s yielding to the whims of a non-benevolent scrotal tyranny… What a karmic bitchslap, after having successfully dodged the whole STD County Fair; only to get sunk in the mud of a tractor pull…There is a certain Gordon Lightfoot bleak bitterness to the whole whiny singsong

I have always held those guys who are constantly fidgeting with their junk in the highest ridicule…but now I find myself in the necessity of doing the ‘cup a soup nuts’ every time I go from weight machine to weight machine or bench or anywhere…

I’ve always been the ‘no hassle, no tune-up, just jump into my equipment and off I go’ type of guy…which I now see is a bonus of youth..now, like the aforesaid politics of sex, I have to pick my battles…which is a real drag…..Something mindblowing is the checking out of Chicks,which I have now transitioned into ‘leering’…. as I’m too lecherously old to be thinking of such deviant stuff with such youthful exuberance…Can the final humiliation of granny sex be far off? …..I’ll be running a continuous  Viagra IV drip, if I don’t explode….. and then being thrown the bone of ‘respiteful’ death?

The inconsistency of maintaining the delicate balance of an immature outlook, after lo’  all these  so many decades: no wife, girlfriend, no semblance of benefits anywhere…not even the yellow pages or back of New York Magazine personals - A life dedicated to the precepts of  worry-free/ responsibility free/ mortgage free and STD free ( or reasonable facsimile, anything not requiring the services of a  rubber-gloved Doctor and and rather cartoonishly long hypodermic…. ).  Having my body fail me, while my head is still ramping up for another ‘No Skin/No Win” is ‘lunchbag letdown’ on an epic scale

So as I pick at the last scabs of idle youth and beauty, only to have the ‘portion control’ and routine check-ups of middle age flung in my face; I can no longer take solace in any last vestiges of immortal aces up my sleeve, or dealing from the bottom of the deck….. There’s no solace to be found, only a shrill kick in the nuts as someone goosed my life’s stopwatch into overdrive.

 I now see my fading reflection in  the next generation of cocksmen, just smugly thumbing of their noses at any potential maladies and winging it by feel.  I refuse to compare their exploits with mine as they burn stronger, and faster on my generations trials and errors… that we furthered and they have run with it…by seeming divine right and no thank you card involved

I too feel…but it’s the twangs of envy, jealousy and voodoo dolls….. gladly to step into their shoes for one last bang!