I Would Like To Know From Whence You Acquired Your Sweater Vest

Surprisingly, masturbating into a plastic tube in a hospital while reading old issues of Penthouse is not too terribly erotic. Who knew? I did like the way they still refer to them professionally as "reading material" and they come in this ominous white envelope. I didn't, however, like the implication that these very magazines had been utilized in the procurement of every sperm sample in the history of the hospital. Seeing Shannon Dougherty adorning the cover of Playboy was none too promising; a nude interview with the star of Heathers meant this had been used but a few scant years after I had been a sperm myself. I thought to myself ,"These women I am obliged to ogle are now likely at the point in their lives where the repercussions of this particular photo shoot are catching up with them. Maybe they have regrets, hell, maybe they have kids. Maybe one day their child will need to give a sperm sample, be given an ancient copy of Jugg-O-Mat and find their mother with a strange man's member overtly posed inside her mouth." My imagination started to get the best of me in the opposite way it was intended; I found it rather ironic that when I'm doing homework I find myself acutely distracted by thoughts of sex and my easy access to pornography, and yet here I am actually given the task of masturbating and my mind is anywhere but. I began to contemplate all the wrong things about the supposed work relationship between Krystal McBigSex and a detached phallus: How can this company possibly sustain itself if their employees are constantly fucking? Why on earth is there a shower in the middle of a boardroom? Most importantly, why do they insist on calling it a "member"? Is it part of some secret dick club I'm not aware of? How is that sexy at all? It makes the penis sound like a malignant tumor. Distracted by these unsexy contemplations, I realized duty calls, thus I soon found myself with a plastic tube filled with progress.

Afterwards, I sat in the conference eating complimentary Frosted Flakes while watching Sesame Street. Oddly enough, as the television turns on so does a radio, which switches stations as you switch TV channels. I don't know what it is exactly about hospitals or dentists offices and lite rock; I understand it's intended to be something soft and innocuous to put patients at ease, but I just get nervous and irritable when listening to it. I mean, come on, Cher's "Do You Believe In Life After Love?" I didn't know there was a place where that song still existed, but I certainly don't want it ringing in the ears of someone who's about to put a drill in my mouth. As I watched Count Van Count lip sync "I Can Feel It Coming in the Air Tonight" as a googly-eyed number 11 raced rampantly across the screen, I realized this was kind of an interesting day.