Diesel Bombers - How about a Rant from Dennis Miller

How about a Rant from Dennis Miller

I don't care what your hobby is before puberty hits, because
as soon as it does, nature assigns you a new one. Let's just
say that when I was 14 I was treated for tennis elbow, and I
didn't even own a racquet. I wasn't exactly subtle about my
self-discovery either. I had tiki torches all around my bed,
a poster of Farrah Fawcett on my ceiling and a spring-loaded
tissue dispenser on my nightstand while I worked my own
crank like it was the gearshift on a Volkswagen bus that I
was trying to rock out of a mudhole. Ah, the good old
days--last Thursday.

You know, there was a time when men dreaded getting old
because they knew it would rob them of their sexual power.
But thanks to modern medicine, couples are having sex
well into their 70s and 80s, to the point where you can now
buy edible panties fortified with calcium.

I guess like all things in this era of unfettered capitalism,
science and technology have turned human sexuality into
yet another profit center. Between penile lengthening,
Viagra and boob jobs, doctors are nailing up shingles to
get in on all the nailing going on. You've got guys who
haven't even been to medical school setting up shop in a
kiosk on a traffic island on Sunset Boulevard who'll inject
chicken fat into your dick for $20 at a red light. Or $10,
if you've got the Entertainment '99 coupon book.

Hey, civilizations come and go, but the one constant
throughout the ages has been and always will be the
orgasm. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief--I don't
care what your social strata is. When that climax lightning
bolt comes roaring down your loins, there's only one thing
on your mind: why in the hell is everybody else on this bus
starin' at me?