Food for Thought
by Tom
Speropulos
As I stared into the
microwave ovens light watching, what minutes
before was a frozen chunk of flesh that once
belonged to a bovine living in Kansas; I began to
daydream. I thought back to the time when
microwave ovens were first introduced and how we
(men, in particular) were told not to get too
close to the oven while it was cooking since
research, by a group of sterile scientists,
showed that doing so would make us (men) impotent
or go blind. Despite these warnings, there were
those of us who would stand right up to the
cooker with our crotches pressed against the
glass so our ‘boys’ could watch while
our Top Ramen dinner cooked. The man-logic seemed
to be that it was a quick and cost-effective
solution for birth control. At best, we ended up
with warm testicles, but our pants carried the
faint aroma of garlic bread that did little to
enhance our attractiveness to women.
These cautions, on the
dangers of microwaves, fell on deaf ears. These
were the same types of warnings boys received
from our P.E. teachers as pubescent boys about
masturbation, coveting girls’ bodies, and
lewd thoughts about sheep and various farm
animals. In those days, the P.E. teacher was part
coach, father figure, and health aide. His job,
as well as forcing us to climb up a 30-foot rope
to touch the top of it with our bleeding hands,
was to sufficiently frighten us about the dangers
caused by impure thoughts and any attempts to
look down the blouse of a heavily endowed female.
Girls and farm animals were often treated as one
when “coach” talked to us about the
hazards of early onset sexual desire, and other
things forbidden. For many years after the sixth
grade, I wasn’t able to look at a leg of
lamb or a pork loin without feeling a little bit
dirty and tawdry.
Thus, it isn’t
surprising that, after years of sexual repression
by men who spent their weekends singing Karaoke
and belching the alphabet, many of us looked
forward to pressing ourselves against a microwave.
Fortunately for most of us, we survived our
sexual repression along with our sessions in
front of the microwave, with little or no harm.
Others, the more vulnerable, went into therapy or
real estate.
My view is, our microwave
crotch fetish is man’s way of expressing his
sixth grade inner child, and self-flagellation
for all of his impure thoughts through the years.
Of course, many others feel it is merely a way to
keep their crotch warm. After all, men are simple
creatures and honestly, who wouldn’t want to
walk around smelling like fresh garlic toast?
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