Erectile dysfunction and football

Erectile dysfunction is not the inability of teenagers to get up in a morning; it’s having a permanently wobbly weewee. In this respect, as my mouse will tell you, stiffness is a virtue. The answer is simple. You’re not being rude enough! It reminds me of football. The hundreds of hours of a weekend’s games are reduced to an hour on Match of the day; only the cream of the highest highlights get through with roughly a goal every 15 seconds. That’s like condensing my adult sex life into a minute and a half. My juvenile sex life would last about as near as scientists have got to the Big Bang, i.e. milliseconds, which is a lot nearer than I got! My point being? Yes it’s the brain again. Sex is not a brain thing, that’s why teenagers don’t have a problem. When one is polishing one’s Pope one doesn’t think of ‘the usual’ with some lardy slag with tits drooping out of the bottom of her jersey, no, one is swimming in the heights of exotica with the likes of Britney Spears. There it is on tap 24/7, the brain’s equivalent of sex on a stick. And reality? Really, am I going to score a goal like Rooney this side of ever? No. My highlights consist of kicking a wayward ball back to its owner and reasonably successfully tackling a dog. I’m an abject failure and that’s the truth. No, the truth is I’m not seeing the funny side, I’m not being rude boy. Forget having a rubber mallet, forget getting a result, that’s Man U’s problem. Slap her with a kipper and do the naked wobbly willy dance. Works every time.