avatarBOFace

Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

3025

Abstract

s to it?</p><p id="1f75">Wait a minute. This is supposed to be funny, and the foregoing two paragraphs fail in that respect. That kinda shit just ain’t funny.</p><p id="1390">Ahem. Let me think. Ah, yes. Penises! They are unfailingly funny.</p><p id="c631">When we are young, we people with penises worry about being embarrassed by our <a href="https://readmedium.com/my-mom-knows-everything-9a95ebb338d?sk=a505a466b564177a4147c54dc55794e5">boners springing up at inopportune times.</a> Then during middle age we worry that our boners will humiliate us by their <i>absence</i> at <i>opportune</i> times.</p><p id="9453">Penises are bottomless wells of worry. For example, penile fracture is a real thing. Did you know that? If you did not know it, guys, now you have one more thing to worry about.</p><p id="a2ee">When I was young I had good reason to worry about it. One of my girlfriends was a Yoga instructor, back when you could walk ten feet without tripping over one. A Yoga instructor that is, not a penis.</p><p id="0754">My penis survived my Yoga instructor unbroken, so I should have breathed a sigh of relief and moved on, but I never could get the thought of <i>penis fracture</i> out of my head.</p><p id="3aba">When we are old we, if not exactly worry, wonder that boners no longer concern us, that we are rather glad to be relieved of the pressure and drama attendant on the same — unless we believe the lies of the mass media. Then we’ll eat Viagra until we worry about penile fracture again.</p><p id="3e85">Do you see my problem? I was all set to forget about my penis and get back to nice big existential worries about God and eternity when I read about Monkey Pox. What? COVID wasn’t enough? Are you there, God? It’s me, <a href="undefined">BOFace</a>.</p><p id="b566">I hear this one comes with pustules. Gag me with a spoon, but at least we’ll know who the anti-vaxxers are.</p><p id="d84e"><b>In Conclusion</b></p><p id="5031">God exists, God hates us, and Monkey Pox is the proof. Maybe we should all go back to worrying about Hell.</p><figure id="0d39"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*wEH0kD0xLP5Fc4-h-8YLxg.jpeg"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@ibrhyme?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Ybrayym Esenov</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/hell?utm_source=unsplash&amp;utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a>, cropped by author.</figcaption></figure><p id="b29d">Special thanks to <a href="undefined">Amy Sea</a> for sparing me considerable embarrassment with her amazing editing and to <a href="undefined">Gary Chapin</a> for this great prompt:</p><div id="1ca4" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/writing-prompt-im-worried-92fe3a473e50"> <div> <div> <h2>Writing Prompt: I’m Worried</h2> <div><h3>Why is no one talking about this?</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></di

Options

v> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*veM286tsop6I9EKt0g5taQ.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="345e" class="link-block"> <a href="https://quasimodo.medium.com/subscribe"> <div> <div> <h2>Get an email whenever I publish.</h2> <div><h3>Get an email whenever I publish. There's no telling what I might do. Maybe your dishes, even. By signing up, you will…</h3></div> <div><p>quasimodo.medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*zfADnqBPYs8D9jmd)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="75e4">Want more funny in your life?</p><figure id="ad35"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*NBM0apbdcUhA-DIVQfXgug.png"><figcaption>MuddyUm brand art by David Todd McCarty</figcaption></figure><p id="5e3b">More MuddyYummies by me, your old buddy, <a href="undefined">BOFace</a></p><div id="fa7f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/all-things-must-collapse-86604c032ef9"> <div> <div> <h2>All Things Must Collapse</h2> <div><h3>No not my pelvic floor — but I did learn to kegel</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*UUByyzmwi55089N1cjCLCg.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="3ae4" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/squatty-potty-diy-version-866229bd18d4"> <div> <div> <h2>Squatty Potty®, DIY Version</h2> <div><h3>In which your intrepid writer writes st and a a lot but without the asterisks</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*rvp-f0paswyR11suFzeceg.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="863f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/greetings-from-the-most-jewish-gentile-in-existence-caa1b5d24266"> <div> <div> <h2>Greetings From the Most Jewish Gentile in Existence</h2> <div><h3>I even like gefilte fish</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*WPNKypVeKd-BABd9ERgRZA.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Existential angst

God Hates Us

NOW I’m scared

Nina Paley, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

I worry that the unfathomable, impersonal universe of things-in-themselves will squish me like a gnat. But in relation to the universe, I’m less than a virus, right? You can’t squish a virus now, can you?

OK, crisis averted. I feel much better, as if COVID vanished like a bad dream. Wait, there are lots of ways we can kill viruses. Just washing our hands will do it.

OK. Now I’m scared. What if God washes their almighty hands?

Get thee hence, ye cosmic, existential worries! I’d rather worry about the fact that I get notifications on Medium to the effect that “so-and-so mentioned you in their story” but when I check it out, nowhere in their story is my name mentioned.

How the fuck do they do that? Do they create huge impersonal tag blankets as a cheesy way to attract readers, then delete them right after publication? I’ll worry about that. It makes for a more fun worry. The universe has nothing on Medium.

If I were rational I’d worry about riding my bicycle in traffic, which I do all the time, baked out of my mind even. What actually worries me is when I get out on the state highway and start seeing Trump lawn signs and Confederate battle flags. That is scary.

Maybe I should worry about going to Hell. I’m sure my born-again sister thinks I’m going to Hell because I accept the theory of evolution. But as Allan W. Watts pointed out, the plight of the souls in Heaven is scarcely less dreadful than that of those condemned to Hell, if you really think about it. Eternity will be eternally boring no matter what the fuck is happening to you. Unless nothing is happening to you.

Now there’s the scariest thing of all. Nothingness, non-being, your own personal non-existence. See? You can’t even think it, that’s how scary it is.

I should spend my worry bucks closer to home and consider the fact that I am now in my seventies, and a lot of people die in their seventies. Perhaps more worrisome if the inescapable realization that if the doctor told me I had pancreatic cancer or some such, my reaction might well be what the fuck? It’s been a pretty good run. Why not use this as a way to check out before I have to endure years of dependency and humiliation?

I wonder if I’d be brave enough to endure death by cancer, or cruel enough to subject my loved ones to it?

Wait a minute. This is supposed to be funny, and the foregoing two paragraphs fail in that respect. That kinda shit just ain’t funny.

Ahem. Let me think. Ah, yes. Penises! They are unfailingly funny.

When we are young, we people with penises worry about being embarrassed by our boners springing up at inopportune times. Then during middle age we worry that our boners will humiliate us by their absence at opportune times.

Penises are bottomless wells of worry. For example, penile fracture is a real thing. Did you know that? If you did not know it, guys, now you have one more thing to worry about.

When I was young I had good reason to worry about it. One of my girlfriends was a Yoga instructor, back when you could walk ten feet without tripping over one. A Yoga instructor that is, not a penis.

My penis survived my Yoga instructor unbroken, so I should have breathed a sigh of relief and moved on, but I never could get the thought of penis fracture out of my head.

When we are old we, if not exactly worry, wonder that boners no longer concern us, that we are rather glad to be relieved of the pressure and drama attendant on the same — unless we believe the lies of the mass media. Then we’ll eat Viagra until we worry about penile fracture again.

Do you see my problem? I was all set to forget about my penis and get back to nice big existential worries about God and eternity when I read about Monkey Pox. What? COVID wasn’t enough? Are you there, God? It’s me, BOFace.

I hear this one comes with pustules. Gag me with a spoon, but at least we’ll know who the anti-vaxxers are.

In Conclusion

God exists, God hates us, and Monkey Pox is the proof. Maybe we should all go back to worrying about Hell.

Photo by Ybrayym Esenov on Unsplash, cropped by author.

Special thanks to Amy Sea for sparing me considerable embarrassment with her amazing editing and to Gary Chapin for this great prompt:

Want more funny in your life?

MuddyUm brand art by David Todd McCarty

More MuddyYummies by me, your old buddy, BOFace

Existential Crises
God
Humor
Muddyumprompt
Bof
Recommended from ReadMedium