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xmag.com : July 2000 : Girl Trouble

Girl Trouble - a monthly column by Rex Breathes

“Com-ease”

It’s come to this: I’m watching Teri Garr and Connie Selecca discussing the mind boggling miracle of Connie’s new rejuvenation cream. Made only with plants... the cream, not this infomercial. Real live plants. Some that even grow in Hawaii. Connie and Teri are so excited about this dream cream, they can barely contain their laugh lines. Teri Garr, having fallen into the land of Cher (without the gifts that God and surgeonkind gave Cher), is at least getting paid to suck-up to Connie. Meanwhile, I’m not. And what’s far worse is the fact that I’m massaging my debit card as the incredibly low price for a 90 day supply flashes above the toll-free number. Following Teri Garr’s crows feet into this health and beauty aid hell is not what I had planned for this evening.

Like a bride afraid of being left at the altar, I’d hate to be a mass of wrinkles just as the global sex orgy is kicking off.

Whatever happened to younger women, older whiskey and faster cars? Or, die young and leave a good looking corpse. Instead, I’m considering dating a doctor (N.D., actually); that’s my idea of low-cost health insurance. It’s either that or buy Connie’s rejuvenation cream and take it internally as well.
All this when the second sexual revolution is just about to get started: We’re talking Viagra for men and the new, liquid condom for women. Just squirt it up inside and the new super lube kills everything on contact. (Ed’s note: We at Exotic magazine are struggling to find anyone willing to talk about this still-in-FDA-testing ultra lube.) With the dawning of this new sexual revolution rivaling the advent of The Pill, you can see why I need to keep those crows feet and laugh lines under wraps. Like a bride afraid of being left at the altar, I’d hate to be a mass of wrinkles just as the global sex orgy is kicking off. Because this product (veiled in more secrecy than nuclear disaster codes) also kills HIV, Herpes, Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Syphilis and every other little fucking excuse not to have sex on contact. Whoa.

I’m drawing a line in the sand. No more aging! Since all I’ve got to do is take a little blue pill and I’ve got wood like a cork filled bat; and all she’s got to do is administer a pre-coitus squirt’o’lube up inside her holy self to protect from my legion of little soldiers, I now, more than ever, want to stick around for the late show. And be wrinkle free. This could be better than Mulder kissing Scully—without her bee sting shock of, “Oh my God! You’re wrinkled.”

Yup. Wrinkle free. Perma-pressed. Light starch around the collar. Please. That’s the new me. With an in-house doctor to help all the organs above the scrotum keep up with the Master Glans.

I admit. It’s not a fool-proof plan. There may be some flaws, like: Can you truly call it coming three times in a row when you plum ran outta semen an hour ago. Details.

With the new “Com-ease” sac hidden in the crack of your ass, you can immolate her face with sweet, body temp goo as good or better in volume than your first launch.

Maybe they’ll invent a little spare sack, easily concealed, that can be triggered at the moment of release to simulate the depleted fluids. Shouldn’t be hard (no pun). You only need about a teaspoon of the simulated goo to pull it off. And, they could make it actually taste good. Get rid of that bitter salty finish. (C’mon guys. Let’s not get all homophobic and act like we’ve never tasted our own come for Chris’sakes.) I’m telling you, the person who first patents the simulated come sac will make a mint.

It’s like this: You’re ready to go for a third time and you’ve got a rod you could hang a wet towel on; but, you know you’ve only got about two drops leftover in the tank. Not to worry. With the new “Com-ease” sac hidden in the crack of your ass, you can immolate her face with sweet, body temp goo as good or better in volume than your first launch. She’ll be impressed. And so will you, as she laps it up and says, “Wow! That tastes good. Is there just a hint of vanilla in your come?” Try it in different flavors: Cappuccino, mocha, mint, and the ever-popular steak tartar.

I think I better go to work on the “Com-ease” infomercial for men. Maybe hire Burt Reynolds as my nodding-in-aggreement-celebrity-sidekick. I can hear Burt now: “It was our third go-around in less than an hour, and I blew a load on Loni’s face that dripped off her chin and onto her wrinkle-free neck with a little left over for her saline tits.”

And there you have it. The future’s looking so bright, I gotta wear shades—to protect from getting crow’s feet.

X

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