As the firm flesh and sensuous sinews of my youth melt away like cheese under the blowtorch of time, I am starting to figure out some uncomfortable truths about the increasing decrepitude of my body.
For example, if I ignore them for a week, large octopus limbs slimily coalescing out of snot and hair will push their way out of my nostrils and thrash violently about my face, sucking in any small insects or passing birds until they are viciously lopped off with my nosehair trimmers. My once succulent buttocks now resemble a greasy, flatulent amoeba halfway through the process of mitosis. And don't get me started on my genitals, which now droop so low that their only perk is that by rapidly twirling them above my head, I become a human gyrocopter.
That sounds impressive, I know, but the appeal wears off the first time you accidentally tread on yourself. I wish I'd known about the Lantz Supporter back in the tight-scrotumed days of my youth.
Still, I'm a little bit skeptical about some of Dr. Lantz's claims. "Gives a refined appearance," the copy reads, right above a picture of a man wearing a banana hammock over his trousers. On the other hand, the absorbent linen sack seems pretty swell: I've long been looking for a supporting undergarment that would facilitate me whizzing all over myself. And that claim about some suspensories being injurious? Tell me about it. Here's a helpful hint: never support your junk by way of a chain apparatus looped through your nipple piercings.
