The Luv Doc: Keeping the Sparks Alive

Dear Luv Doc,
How do you keep the sparks alive in senior years?
- Leslie

Dear God, Leslie, it was my hope that at some time in my future I could just lie down and take a nap – or maybe watch baseball, or reruns of Murder, She Wrote, which, as far as I can tell, are both bullet trains to Slumberville. Now you’re telling me I have to keep sparks alive? What fresh hell is this? What happened to whiling away the hours trying to remember the name of that dark-haired kid on How I Met Your Mother? You remember. The overly sentimental wet blanket who managed to make Neil Patrick Harris seem like a laugh riot? Yeah, that guy. I hope he at least got a Hollywood square or maybe some face time on HSN.

That seems like a full day’s work for anybody over the age of 70, but apparently these days the blue-hairs are supposed to go hard all the way to the grave – and by “hard” I mean “turgid” … or “fulsome” … or “swollen.” For you slower types (hey, I read my demos) I am referring to the erect male penis. It’s getting to where I can’t pick up a Texas Monthly, listen to KOKE FM, or look at my Facebook feed without seeing an ad for Viagra, Cialis, or testosterone.

Turns out pretty much every malady imaginable can be attributed to low T … beer gut, flat ass, breast buds, flabby thighs, floppy ears, yellow teeth, timidity, obsequiousness …. Apparently testosterone can turn you from a doddering old bumblefuck into a flat-stomached, ass-kicking Adonis without having to exercise whatsoever. AMAZING. Makes you think that somewhere in rural China there is a huge pen of listless silverback gorillas and grizzly bears walking around with dessicated testicles – or maybe napping. I will admit I am not well-schooled on the intricacies of testosterone farming. All I know is that I would hate to be the 7-year-old boy that has to work the extraction syringe. Talk about an attrition rate.

But back to the sparks thing: It frightens me to think that living a full life in my 80s means strapping some sort of geriatric fuck harness onto my rocking chair and mainlining gorilla testosterone. I know this phrase rarely leaves my mouth, but it seems undignified – almost as undignified as the couple in the Cialis ad that somehow manages to end up naked on a hilltop holding hands … in separate bathtubs.

Of course, I don’t own a multibillion-dollar drug company. Those crazy bastards may be on to something. Maybe the best way to keep the sparks alive in senior years is public indecency. In fact, I kind of like the idea of a bunch of old people shuffling around naked with raging Cialis boners - which is what I imagine Sun City is like anyway.