THE ASKTATION

Dear Ask Boz,

I recently married a wonderful woman. One of the wonderful things about her is that she likes to come out and watch me play. The problem is that if I don't win, I don't "get any" when I get home. My team's current record is 9 and 10. I'm only "getting some" a less than half the time. How can I disassociate my on the field performance with my in the bed performance?

Kevin

RESPONSORIAL

Dearest Kevin,

You can’t. But it is not your fault. The Ask Boz Psychology Institute labels the condition your wife has as “Lamehusbandaphobia.” Her default perception of you is a combination of the following factors, in no specific order: pale, stringbean, loser, hippy, weak, powerless, fool. So, when any of these is changed, their will be a concomitant change in how she relates to you. Thus, changing the “loser” to “winner,” she suddenly sees you as a “pale stringbean winner hippie weak powerless fool” … not that much better, admittedly, but, you know, if it gets you the old lockata-lockata, well, any toke at a Dead show, right?

But this isn’t about her, it’s about you. Because it was you who lost the last game. Just as you were up 14 to 12, time cap looming, and determining which unguent you would use to lubricate sweet victories’ loving embrace. It must have been like a knife stabbed into your meat-starved manhood when your opponents surged to win 15-14. She wouldn’t even look at you, and you had to drive home in “Bad Kevin’s Seat.” Once again, you found yourself curled up on the passenger seat floor, hitting yourself with a cleat, saying “Bad Dobby Lost Hippy Plastic Game! Harry Potter must not go back to school this year!”

Then you were home. Who was that who went in with her as you showered in the sprinkler? Why wass the bedroom door locked, and why wass there a man’s voice coming from the other side, and Barry White singing "Yeah, baby"? You tried covering your ears and going "tofu-tofu-tofu-tofu," but that just made you hungry. So you opened up The Kevin Sutra and tried to get in touch with your denial “chi.”

The Kevin Sutra:

He lifts his legs above his head,
Clamps them to his shoulders with his hands
Blocking his ears to his wife’s moaning
Crying meatless tears

This is “Trumpatha” (The Spineless Hippy Lotus Bud)


Grasping his ankles while twisting in place
He holds the rutabaga clamped beneath his chin
Feels its weight against his pasty chest,
His wife seems to be having a good time

This is “Jugchokshi” (Jerry Got Laid and Look at Him Lotus Flower)


If, grasping your play rags,
You have “Kevin Time”
And you spin and spin
And the dizziness makes you think you hear moaning

You have found “Ravishankar” (She Calls my Meat “Tofu” Lotus Petal)

These different position should help relieve some of your wound-up loser-hippy sexual tension, and free you to watch some grainy, smelly bootleg tape of an acid soaked, incomprehensible Dead concert, with a sound so fuzzy it makes a cat feel bald … which is what you do after 3.14 minutes with your wife anyway.

Yes, that is cigarette smoke coming from the bedroom,

Ask Boz

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