THE PROBLEM OF NAKED WOMEN

They’re everywhere: book stores, TVs, PCs, museums, telephones (strictly hearsay),
libraries, backyards, psych. wards and imaginations – like a cancer creeping among the
internal organs of our society.

All it takes is one woman changing clothes in the privacy of her own home, a little snake of light entering through a crack in the curtains, and arousal begins to grip the universe.

The malignancy spreads through the males. Under the influence of these unholy visions they sweat, swell up and swindle.

“However”, according to one analyst, “this is only true of the human species.”

So, the problem of naked women may be connected to the size and complexity of the brain. That means the male human brain is the real problem.

“If only we could get everyone to have exactly the same brain, like carrots or beets,” concludes one surgeon, in her sexy white blood-splattered gown.

Ah, then lobotomies may be the solution to the problem.

Grandmothers yelling at teens to stop looking at dirty pictures on the Internet will solve nothing, at least as long as Granddaddy is still around playing with himself in front of an old condemned Brigitte Bardot flick down in the unfinished basement.

“So, let’s have one whole side of Grandpa’s brain removed asap,” suggests Grandma Shrink, using sex as a club again, while her daughter is downtown collecting twenties in her cleavage and g-string.

Of course we’ll need to have more public officials spying on enterprising privates and closing them down. And, we’ll need to burn all the cellos.

The problem is so big. Maybe castration is the answer. Maybe what the world needs now is more sopranos. And prisons, at least one on every street.

What happened to the good old days of family values, incest and child labor! Why can’t we just get everyone to believe in the same God like the ants do. We ought to go back to the grand old Dark Ages of iconoclasm, virgin mothers and cannibalism – Christ’s flesh and blood served up in pure gold platters and chalices while the choir plays with its organs and sings in perfect harmony.

Or we could take the offending part, the head, and smash it again and again into a blackboard, unconsciousness being the heavenly goal. Then make each pubescent boy carry the crucifix of his hormones up to Golgotha. It’s the Catholic school approach to purification: the body is the original sin.

Bless me, Father Pedophile, it has been 46 years since my last confession, I have jerked off about a quarter of a million times, I have hooted at hundreds of hale Marys…and oh by the way, how is that vow of celibacy working for you so far?

Say, for your penance, I flip you the bird, the “sign of the cross,” and, heartlessly not sorry for having offended thee, leave the church with a host of NAKED WOMEN!!!!!!!