And the crystal ball says…wait, what?
Someday, when time travel becomes a reality, I plan on returning to the precise moment in time when the thought popped into my head that twenty year-old me should write an english lit thesis entitled; ‘The Female Orgasm’−Fact or Fiction?
Well, with almost twenty years of empirical data under my belt, (literally) I now know that writing about shit I knew nothing about at the time was ludicrous, that’s not to say anything about sexist. But then again I had a tendency toward those kinds of things¹ when I was younger.
Anyway, I’ll probably go back in time and try to talk young me out of writing it.
I’m imagining our conversation going something like this:
[I pop into young me's room one night, he's mulling over the short list of topics for his thesis]
Young Me: “Hey, who are you and how’d you get in here? Wait, are you…?”
Old me: “Yeah, Yeah, calm down genius, I’m you in twenty years.”
YM: “Wow. You didn’t age very well did you, where’s all our hair. And what’s with the gut? Jesus, what’d you do to us?”
OM: “Shut up and listen to me. I’m here to warn you.”
YM: “Warn me? Warn me about what? Letting our gym membership lapse?
OM: “DO NOT write that thesis on lady parts and their phantom whereabouts. More importantly, don’t write about the non-existence of orgasms. Turns out, there is such thing after all.”
YM: “Jesus, our hair. Is that a comb-over? And what’s with all the wrinkles?”
OM: “Dude, you’re fixating, are you listening to me? Write it and you’ll be sorry. I promise.”
YM:“And if I write it, what happens then? Wait…are those hair transplants? They are, aren’t they? Do you know how stupid you look? We look like we’ve got doll’s hair!”
OM: “If you write this paper, word will spread all over campus what an asshole you are. Girls will stare and point as you’re walking to class. After that, you might as well have been a eunuch for the remainder of your college days. No college girls would ever talk to us again, not even drunk chicks at parties. Listen to me you fucking idiot, you turned us into a sexual pariah with one stroke of your pen.”
YM: “Not even Sherry Franklin?”
OM: Sherry Franklin? Sherry Franklin’s a lesbian. Pure vagitarian through and through—you never had a shot dude. I caught up with her a couple years ago. She lives in San Francisco with some bull-dike named Jeremy.”
YM: “Jeremy? Wait, what size is your waste anyway? Are you like a 40+ or something? What happened to our 34?”
OM: “Yeah I’m a little out of shape, but so what. That’s nothing compared to you. You’re a future inductee into the Masturbation Hall of Fame if you go through with this. What you need to do is write that paper on butterfly’s or something. Not orgasms or the whereabouts of inconspicuous lady parts.”
YM: “Did you ever consider a gym membership?”
OM: “Oh, fuck you. Write the paper. You deserve this.”
¹ Mostly pertaining to anything stupid