Thursday, June 10, 2010

Scorned Dog


As my incomprehensibly busy streak continues -- and once again, I swear it won't last forever -- I'm doing what I can to keep some semblance of content appearing on this site regularly. So with that in mind, I'm bringing back a piece from last year on the eye-opening joys of keeping your penis safely tucked in your pants. Why do I do this? Because 23-year-old mistress/psycho-chick Brooke Hundley -- who you'll remember was one half of the duo that wrecked the career of sports anchor Steve Phillips (the other half being Phillips himself) -- is now suing ESPN for supposedly defaming her.

So what's the lesson again, folks?

"Reject the Cock" (Originally Published, 10.23.09)

"Anybody who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography."

-- Robert Byrne


All kinds of wonderfully interesting things happened to me following the brain surgery I underwent back in 2006. Because I had a very large portion of my pituitary gland removed along with the even larger tumor I had to have cut out of my head, I was rendered one giant, hormonal trainwreck in the months and even year or so following the operation. Although it was nightmarish at times -- you try figuring out where that fucking fruity smell is coming from while you're sitting through your dozenth hot flash of the day -- I have to admit that one by-product of the surgery's aftermath was nothing short of eye-opening.

For a good amount of time, I completely lost my sex drive.

As in completely.

It didn't mean I couldn't have sex -- just that I had no overwhelming desire to.

While this might sound like some Boschian hellscape for most men out there, I gotta say -- it was actually anything but. In fact, it was kind of nice, for the first time since puberty, to be mercifully free from the tyrannical rule of my own penis. Think about it: If you're a guy, how many times has your dick gotten you into serious trouble? Think about the money you've spent in pursuit of getting laid. Think about the compromising positions you've put yourself in; the number of girlfriends who've thrown drinks at you in public after discovering that you couldn't resist the two bisexual strippers the previous evening; that time you woke up in a strange house with a girl scout sash tied tightly around your scrotum, boxes of Samoa cookies scattered everywhere and the police threatening to bust down the door.*


Or how about this one: Your inability to keep yourself safely out of the pants of a 22-year-old psychopath who's now destroying your marriage and your career at ESPN.

By now you've likely heard the story of ESPN analyst Steve Phillips and his three-week affair with a young production assistant named Brooke Hundley. You're probably also familiar with the fact that Hundley's behavior in the wake of that affair has been, shall we say, "erratic." She wrote a rambling letter to Phillips's wife in which she detailed her relationship with Phillips, talked at length about the couple's children (a violation which, in my humble opinion, constitutes an acceptable defense for murder), and described a birthmark on her lover's crotch -- you know, just to prove that she'd actually been spending a lot of time where she claimed to be. Phillips's wife, Marni, dialed 911 right after the letter was dropped at her home by Hundley, claiming that Hundley had been harassing her family for some time -- making threatening calls and shouting hysterically, "We both can't have him," and posing as a 16-year-old on Facebook to reach out to her teenage boys -- and that she'd just driven her car into the family's house. If Steve and Marni Phillips's kids had a pet rabbit, that fucker would be soup by now.

But while there's no doubt that Brooke Hundley is one crazy little tart, it's Steve Phillips and his apparently still armed and fully operational penis that overwhelmingly contributed to the goddamned mess he's now in.

I've written before about not just men's but everyone's propensity to cheat on their spouses, and given the level of controversy that very personal piece spawned I see no need to revisit it in detail here. But it's still disconcerting as hell to think that no matter how old a guy gets -- Phillips is 46, David Letterman, who's own recent scandal, complete with sex tape, has put him in the spotlight, is 62 for God's sake -- his years of accrued wisdom and ostensible good sense will never apparently trump his hubris and sex drive. It would be nice to think that at some point in a man's life, even one who makes his living on television, judgment will finally override the desire for a cheap thrill that inevitably leads to a really undignified fall.

It would be nice to think it -- but it apparently just ain't so.

Years ago, my friends and I used to regularly warn each other of the dangers of "men made dumb by pussy." And for a little while, I got to stand outside myself and laugh at the absurdity of the endless pursuit of it -- and it was a revelation.

For the record, I eventually did get on the right kind of medication, my chemistry balanced out and my sex drive finally returned. I'm hoping, however, that the insight I gained during my time as a free, hormonally castrated man -- the time when sex seemed like nothing but a silly triviality -- stays with me and is powerful enough to counteract the biological drive that's been an albatross around the neck (to say nothing of the nether regions) of my kind since the beginning of time.

Although -- anybody know when Girl Scout cookie season starts again?

*I sometimes drink.

Related:

DXM: All Fall Down/8.10.08

DXM: Eliot Mess/3.12.08

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

what the hell's keeping you so damned busy?

xoch said...

for what it's worth, I prefer the listening posts among the quick updates. I find a new song, am reminded of a cool old one, or get to laugh at your taste.

Although if you could also post them sans video (unless it's the video you want us to see)it would be even better since I log on from work and the evil powers that be are now clocking bandwith usage (yeah, they suck).

timelady said...

Chez - you said once I didn't understand. You were wrong Rereading that ancient post just cuts as much. An army of us, wandering in endless brittle darkness…

Here is my response:

what becomes of the broken hearted?

Anonymous said...

If he could leave us, his wife of 22 years, the first 15 of which were blissful and perfect, and his 19 year old daughter, then it could happen to anyone. It's been two years, and I am still stunned. A year ago I was run over by a car and waiting in the trauma unit for CT scan results. Did I need major surgery? Was there internal bleeding that would kill me? My blood pressure was dropping, I was shaking and crying, in shock, they said. I had a nurse dial my estranged husband. He was three miles away, working at his CPA firm on a Sunday, and would not come to sit with me until I found out whether or not I would live. This man who had loved me more than life. Had adored and danced attendance on me far more than I deserved, just as my father had done all my childhood, he no longer felt anything for me. Oh, god, it still hurts so. I can only think of the cheesy George Michael song Careless Whisper (I have so many faults, but being faithful even in the face of years of impotence, was not one of them, I kept those vows I made.), "...was what I did so wrong, so wrong, that you had to leave me alone?" We aren't divorced yet, but I haven't spoken to himn in months. He won't return my calls. I need it over. The thought that he might only be one third of my life instead of the rest of it? I never would have left him... Chez, your words seem ripped from my head, I am blessed that my child grew up with parents who loved each other, but what lies ahead? Devestation...on my wedding day, when the caterer said she had never seen a calmer bride?, I would have laughed in your face.