I am America (and so can you!) (88 page)

bedrooms are filled with gay people.

Tough call.

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Hope he doesn’t fall too far. Hemophiliacs bruise easily.
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I A M A M E R I C A ( A N D S O C A N Y O U ! )

I hope that the Heroes out there heed my advice and find the love they deserve, because there are a lot of people who don’t want men and women to get together. They’d rather see us in constant battle, a war between the sexes, where the battleground is sex itself.

Case in point: Kegels.

Now, if you’re like me, when you hear the word “Kegel” you immediately think of the German word for ten-pin bowling, or
kegeln
. Well, the other day I was searching the Internet for news on the latest standings in the professional Kegel league and I got the shock of my life when this shocking page from the Mayo Clinic popped up:

Kegel exercises:

How to strengthen your pelvic floor muscles.

Now, I’m not squeamish about the female, you know, parts. But I’m not about to go into detail about what this “clinic” is suggesting women do. Suffice it to say, they must want women to work out the muscles down there for a reason of their own.

These strengthening exercises are called “kegels” and are named for Dr. Arnold M. Kegel M.D. I’ve heard of some weird fetishes, but this guy must have been a real sicko.

Now, the ladies who sign on and install a Bowflex™ in their privates say that there are all sorts of benefits, including increased sexual pleasure for both partners. I’m not buying it. Hey, everyone loves a firm handshake, but who wants to buy a car from the salesman who crushes your hand in a death grip?

The worst part is that their operation is covert. Any woman could be doing it at any time, any place. Look around you right now. Do you see a woman?

Is she flexing? There’s no legal way to know.

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What the hell are they training for?
It ain’t pickin’ stawberries
. And they got us where they want us. Might as well put a bear trap in a honey pot.

So fellas, you’ve been warned. From here on out, every casual conquest has been turned into a deadly game of vaginal roulette.

Wow, “vaginal roulette.” That was a little racy. I’m out of breath, and I’m sure so are some of you. Let’s take a cool shower in Matthew 5:29—
“If your eye

—even if it is your good eye—causes you to lust, gouge it out and throw it
away.”

I feel better already.

A C H A N C E F O R AV E R AG E A M E R I C A N S TO AG R E E W I T H W H AT I T H I N K

Hey there. I’m your soul mate, the one person on this

earth who’s perfect for you in every way. Yes, I exist, and yes, everyone else you’ve been with is a pale substitute. We’re meant to be together, but we’ve never met.

You see, there are 6 billion people in the world and you

encounter at most about 1,000 people per day, so statistically

our paths would cross only once every 16,500 years. If we’re

going to beat those odds you need to work harder, because so

Your Soul Mate

far you’ve done a spectacular job of messing this up.

Remember when you bought that pack of gum and the clerk

asked if you wanted a bag, but you were in a rush so you said no? If you’d waited that extra three seconds you would have missed the next train, making you late for the play, so they wouldn’t have let you in the theater until the first scene was over, and I
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would have entered the lobby—also late—and we’d have gotten to talking. We probably would have just skipped the play and gotten coffee and then…Pow! Fifty years of golden summers at the lake house.

Another example: Remember when you signed up for a yoga class? You should have signed up for a pottery class. I was taking a pottery class! How hard is that to figure out? And don’t just sign up for a pottery class next time, because I might have moved on to hip-hop cardio. I can’t tell you exactly where I’ll be because if you’re really my soul mate you’ll just
know
. Please just get it right. Last time, I dealt with my disappointment by sleeping with the pottery instructor. I guess what I’m saying is, next time you think about going to the museum today instead of tomorrow when I’ll be there, ask yourself: Do you really want to spend the rest of your life alone? Are you going to take the bus or are you going to walk? If you do walk and it’s raining, how are you going to see me under my umbrella, unless I don’t have one and you share yours, or I share mine and that’s how we meet? So remember: Never leave the house without an umbrella… or with one. It’s your choice. I think I explained pretty clearly what’s at stake.

Are you reading this at a book store? I’m right behind you. Turn around!

Am I still there?

God, you’re a slow reader.

Point is, hanging over every decision you make, however small, is the sword of our loneliness. I am out there. Find me. But please hurry. I know we’re meant to be together for eternity, but I can’t wait forever.

Oh my God! I just ran into my pottery teacher. That’s so random.