Ramses, Is That an Ankh In Your Pocket, Or Are You Using Generic Viagra?

Call me Ishmael. William the Conqueror, Wilhem Meister, Phallus Augustus, Erekticles... I don't even know my own name anymore, thanks to my wife's nicknames. During our European tour, she's been thinking up new appellations to denote my rekindled sexual prowess every time we visit a new country. Chalk it all up to Generic Viagra. I bought some of the stuff in a desperate bid to get it up long enough to pleasure my wife at least once during our silver anniversary trip. Boy, have those expectations been exceeded. Ever enjoyed a romantic moonlit night on the balcony of your five-star hotel, with nothing on-and found yourself instinctively crouching, worried somehow that your titanic light-year-long Johnson might knock the moon from its orbit? This was the sort of apocalyptic power that Generic Viagra had... endowed me with. I can tell you that my wife thought the end of the world was at hand a couple of times, when I'd almost pounded her into a state of transcendence. And she welcomed the deluge that followed. Ever hear the Chinese folk tale about the girl who swallows the ocean? Well, I married that girl. Generic Viagra had inspired our sex life, pulled it from its coffin, so to speak. Because, already I my age, I was a man with one appendage in the grave-and I'm not talking about my foot. Every night, my wife would try to touch me, strumming my pain with her fingers-and the damn thing just rolled over on its side like a sick dog. Killing me softly, you might say. That was my life before I ordered Generic Viagra and took it along on our trip.

Now we'd made it (barely) to our hotel room in Cairo, where immediately I'd given it to her hard and rough-which won me my new title: Ramses. You know, because of all the ramming I'd been doing, thanks to Generic Viagra. Later, of course, she'd see a real similarity between me and those four colossal seated statues of of the Great Pharaoh at Abu Simbel. Of course, my namesake was seated-all four of him. My wife immediately began comparing me to them. "But honey, there are four statues here!" "Pharaoh, since you've been taking Generic Viagra, I sometimes feel you're ramming me in four orifices at once." "Four?" I said, puzzled. She didn't explain what she meant-must have been something metaphysical (although certainly not Platonic!). "He's sitting a bit oddly," she remarked. "Doesn't he look a little... stiff?" "Honey, who's the Art History major here? Don't you know that all Egyptian sculpture looks like that? Things only became more naturalistic with the Greeks." But I could tell she had that Generic Viagra look in her eye. "No, look," she said, squinting. "He's pitching a tent, big time. He should take off that headdress and cover his lap with it." "Or invite Queen Nefertitty to sit in his lap," I added, like a sex-obsessed schoolboy. "Pervert!" my wife gasped mockingly.

Later, in a museum, we saw Ramses himself-the mummy, that is. What a sobering sight that was! I swear, I thought my wife was going to cry. "Honey, look at him, dark and shriveled, like a sun-dried fig, like an old, broken stick!" She wiped a tear from her eye. "This is how you looked before Generic Viagra!" I frowned, but I had to agree. But then, Ramses had been preserved in this fashion to meet his harem of virgins in the afterlife. I too had passed through the valley of the shadow of sexual death, of premature impotence, of horrific flaccidness, only to rise from the ashes. Thanks to Generic Viagra, I was destined to endure for the ages-like the Great Pyramids of Giza.