LiFE, TAXES, AND MORNING WOOD

I’d say the quality of the recent sex I’ve been having is a direct correlation to the quality of the morning wood stuffing my shorts in the morning. I know what you’re thinking; there coexists different degrees to the quality of morning wood? Yeah.... If it hurts you know it was an X rated beauty of a dream and even though you can only remember glimpses of it, you’ll hang a little lower that day because somewhere in your mind you’ve been tricked into feeling that post-gross-piece swagger as the dirtiest part of your sex drive is satisfied even if only for a few hours that day. Unfortunately you only get those rarely now that your an old bastard like me and only after the Mrs has been putting out. Sex wakes up your libido and throws the thought of sex into the ring as a possibility to all the other things your mind has a choice of spinning a tale around. The song Dream Weaver is actually about Morning Wood. So anyway- Without any loving, your mind turns to more relevant topics like fear, death, falling, ect...to choose from.  Almost like your mind is so bored it doesn’t even put in the effort to at least try to trick you. You’re mind is so numb it’s creates a dream that’s something so far fetched even in your unconscious you’re like, Yeah I don’t think so, you wake up woodless and disappointed, like nice try. Roll over and nudge your wife and ask her if she want’s to get it on, and her motionless refusal is comforting. You’re like, well at least I gave it a shot maybe that futile effort will score me a halfie in the morning.