Day: May 28, 2013

A Bitter Pill To Swallow

I may be wrong, but on the list of requirements for a better world, I would imagine that longer-lasting erections would be placed fairly low down. Somewhere between self-replacing toilet rolls and bark-free dogs, perhaps.

I, on the other hand, have always been an ardent supporter of a pill that could boost a woman’s sex drive.

There is something particularly unlovely about the sexually aroused male. If some studies are to be believed, this would mean the male is unlovely only during the time he is not asleep. But when the female is on heat – I mean really on heat and not just pretending for the sake of a free meal and a trip to the Seychelles – she is a sight to behold.

Her skin glows and her movements become slow and panther-like. Her growling turns to purring and her tail feathers go up. Her breathing becomes shallow and her eyes change colour. I can only imagine this is what it must be like.

It was within our grasp, this fabulous elixir, but the dream has been shattered. By the Americans, no less. A nation of God-fearing pilgrims has denied women everywhere the chance to see life through our eyes; the chance to feel urges other than to shop, chat or cry.

The US Food and Drug Administration voted unanimously against approving a pill that was already being hailed as the “female Viagra”. Any nation that lumps food and drugs into the same category doesn’t deserve to be called a superpower. It should have no power at all. It should be called Haiti.

The advisory panel said the evidence presented had not demonstrated the effectiveness or safety of flibanserin. Only a company called Boehringer Ingelheim could come up with a drug capable of bringing about world peace and then call it flibanserin. If they had called it “Ja! Ja!” or just plain old “Mein Gott!” it would have been approved.

What woman suffering from low libido, low self-esteem and quite possibly low iron levels would walk into a pharmacy and ask for flibanserin? It sounds like something you’d rub on your gums to cure trench mouth.

This is what panel chair Julia Johnson had to say: “The efficacy was not sufficiently robust to justify the risks.”

I beg your pardon? Robust? Is she saying the entire project was shut down because the guinea pigs failed to tear each other apart in an unbridled orgy of lust?

We aren’t asking for a feeding frenzy, Julia. All we want is for the initiative to occasionally come from someone who isn’t us.

What possible risks could there be, anyway? She takes the pill, still doesn’t feel like sex and her friends notice nothing different about her. How come nobody worries about the risks faced by men who react to Viagra in an insufficiently robust manner? Getting laughed at by your mates can lead to suicide or, worse, having to find a new pub.

One of the side effects of flibanserin is dizziness. Oh, well. In that case, cancel all trials at once. For men, the side effects of not getting laid include dizziness and an overpowering urge to attack North Korea.

Medical trials say that at least 40% of women suffer from varying degrees of sexual hypoactivity. “You call that suffering?” she scoffed. “Try being married to a lump of snoring lard for 15 years.”

Is that what’s happening here? Is it possible that sexually dysfunctional women might not, in fact, be completely mad? Could it be that they are simply going off men in general? Does this make them lesbians? I like to think so. By the same token, then, erectile dysfunction is not caused by stress. It is caused by women who lie through their teeth and kiss like Gila monsters.

The two-year studies found that women who took flibanserin reported 4.5 more satisfying sexual experiences per month. I suppose only a woman knows what half a satisfying sexual experience feels like. A thoroughly satisfying experience, I expect, is when the man doesn’t pitch up at all.

These women are already having sex more than four times a month, and that’s with no libido, for heaven’s sake. Are they being paid?

Hello. What’s this? Flibanserin belongs to a family of anti-depressants that reduces the level of serotonin, which has an effect on mood and can put a damper on sexual desire. Trust the Germans to cock it up. Achtung, Klaus! It’s in the wrong bloody family.

We don’t expect our women to be happy and horny. Horny will do just fine. So get to it. Schnell! Schnell!

 

Good Health Can Kill You

As a child I was told that an apple a day would keep the doctor away. Now, low salaries and poor working conditions keep the doctor away. Far away. As in Perth. Or toyi-toying in the parking lot outside casualty.

And it turns out that apples are rotten to the core with dangerous sugars and killer acids. If you had to eat one a day your teeth would fall clean out of your head, you’d lose your job, be ostracised by society and end up getting shanked in Pollsmoor after being forced into racketeering to stay alive. All because of apples.

I was also told that sunshine was good for you. If I started choking on a lump of gruel or cut myself and began bleeding on the carpet, my mother would smack me across the head and say, “Go outside and stand in the sun – that’ll fix you.” But the sun isn’t good for you at all. After giving you a fabulous tan, it leaves you with squamous cell carcinomas that gnaw away at your skin until you wake up one morning and find there’s nothing left to stop your meat from falling out. Even worse, it makes your face go all splotchy and people will start mistaking you for Zakumi, the diseased mascot of the 2010 World Cup.

For almost my entire life I have had to put up with my parents, ex-girlfriends, lawyers, paramedics and magistrates telling me that beer is evil. Pinot Noir, on the other hand, is good. What absolute rubbish.

Wine is only good for cleansing your palate between beers. Recent studies have shown that beer improves cardiovascular function. Don’t ask me how it accomplishes this. God works in mysterious ways. All I know is that thanks to beer, I have a heart that beats louder and faster than a Malian jina djembe and I can run the 800m in under four minutes. Beat that if you can.

I remember growing up and my mother telling me that I couldn’t have chocolates because they were bad for me. Well, it turns out that chocolate was only bad for her because she had to pay for it.

Chocolate doesn’t make your willy fall off, as I was led to believe. It is packed with antioxidants that expand your arteries and quite possibly your mind. But make sure you stick to chocolate with a high cocoa content. If you can only get your hands on the cheap stuff, dip it into a bowl of cocaine first. The effect will be similar, except with cocaine you may develop microscopic holes in your brain.

Everyone knows marijuana is harmful. Or is it? Perhaps we are just saying that because we have come to associate it with police brutality. Well, here’s a shocker. Recent studies on mice suggest that anti-inflammatories found in the drug prevent the clumping of brain proteins, a major cause of Alzheimer’s. After the study the mice kept misplacing their car keys and eating way too much cheese, but that seems a small price to pay.

As an adolescent I had to contend with a mother who would don protective gear to clean my room. “But mummy,” I would cry as my emergency food reserves were shoveled into a lead-lined bag, “maggots are good!” It was too terrible for words. The maggots – the only real friends I had as a child – would be taken around the back of the house where unspeakable things were done to them.

It has since been proven that maggots, unlike many mothers, can cure all sorts of things. Placed on an open wound, maggots will happily munch away on bacteria and dead tissue, stimulating healing and preventing infection. Some work colleagues may find this less of a conversation piece than you might think, but this is nothing more than jealousy on their part. If they complain too much, give them an open wound of their own and offer to share your maggots.

I was also taught from a young age that anger is a negative emotion. Every time I threw a tantrum, my mother took me gently by the hand and led me to the bathroom where she would whip my quivering buttocks with a bamboo rod, coat hanger, hair brush and, once those had snapped, she would start in with her teeth, nails and feet.

I quickly learnt to bottle up my anger. When I turned 21, I went out and killed the local rugby team. Looking back, it might have been better for my blood pressure had I let my anger out in smaller bursts.

One of the most enduring myths, usually propagated by slack-jawed mouthbreathers who believe the Earth is only 6000 years old, is that pre-marital sex is wrong. Even though post-marital sex is an even bigger myth, the fact remains that nothing else you do has the ability to reduce stress, lower cholesterol and improve circulation while simultaneously exposing you to ridicule, legal proceedings and life-threatening diseases.

My point, if there even is one, is that nobody knows anything. What seems like a good idea today – like taking Viagra or owning an iPhone or a Vietnamese potbellied pig – could end up decimating half the world’s population I’m not saying this is necessarily a bad thing. I’m simply saying … actually, I don’t know what I am saying. Forget I ever mentioned it.