One reason that I prefer reading an actual newspaper over on line editions is the portability of the newspaper in relation to the bathroom. At my place of business, there is a pipe that comes down from the ceiling directly behind and attached to the urinal at head height. It is the perfect place to tuck in the sports page, giving you a way to enjoy sports and void your bladder at the same time.
Each day my brother tucks in the Free Press sports page open to page two.
For months I have been fascinated and amused by the ad which appeared in the lower left hand corner of this page. It featured The Men’s Medical Clinic and gives you a blow by blow (as it were) account of how they can eliminate erectile dysfunction and premature ejaculation. This is what I love about the ad in no particular order:
*They boast an all male staff. How this is an enticement to arousal or privacy, I cannot fathom. I always picture a gruff guy behind the counter with a sly, “I can get hard and you can’t” grin on his mug checking you in.
*The boast of the clinic is the use of a special pill that will give a dead man an erection that will continue after his ejaculation...long after his ejaculation...45, 60 or 90 minutes after his ejaculation. This insures that even after you have orgasmed, you can keep working until your partner has caught up. The Clinic pills you up on your initial visit to make sure that you can deliver while on site. In my mind, the waiting room is filled with guys who have popped their cork and are now sitting around with a variety of bulges in their pants, watching Sports Center and waiting 45, 60 or 90 minutes for their boners to subside before heading to Tim Horton’s for a coffee.
*Who wants to stay hard for ninety minutes? Most of us have had a snack and a nap by that time.
*I am also concerned with what stimuli you are given to get things going. Again, I see the gruff guy behind the counter spreading out a perverse kaleidoscope of dog eared smut for your on site test. “We got Barely Legal, Shaved, Whiptail...”
*I would not touch the door knobs or pens in this joint either. If you happen to drop something on the floor, leave it.
*The location is in one of those large, multi-office medical clinics. The suite next door houses Novi Mental Health Specialists ( looked it up on line, not through a personal visit, in case you are wondering). I envision a very delicate consultation between the Novi mental health specialist and a troubled patient. “Yes, I understand that your mother was overbearing and your issues with intimacy may stem...” Through the wafer thin walls come the sounds of The Men’s Medical Clinic “curing” another patient, bringing the mental health evaluation to an abrupt end.
Recently, The Men’s Clinic ad has disappeared from the lower left hand corner of page two of the Free Press sports section. Either erectile dysfunction and premature ejaculation have been cured (doubtful as I am certain that I would have seen the banner headlines), or their contract with the Free Press has run it’s course.
I miss it.
If you want to feel truly young, forget visiting The Men’s Clinic and stop in at the Sportsmen’ Den in Riverview. Located at the Riverview Highlands golf course on Sibley between Allen and Fort, you will swear you have stumbled into a cast wrap up party for Cocoon II (thanks to Tony for that one liner). At age fifty-seven, with a face that screams sixty-seven, I can confidently state that I am often the youngest guy in the joint.
I have visited this pub on a number of occasions; only once with partner in liver damage Tony. This seems to be a go-to spot for wife Andrea and I when in the mood for drink and entertainment. On the one occasion I visited with Tony, a female member of the age spot brigade asked if he was with the band, an honest mistake given Tony’s bon vivant appearance. He autographed her napkin, accepted a free drink and we moved on (kidding).
There is no cover to get into the Sportsmen’s. You simply park in the gigantic lot, walk down a short hall toward the sound of The Tender Years Band and find a spot at the large bar or one of the many tables that surround the bar. You will want to get as close to the band as possible, because what happens on the large dance floor in front of the band is a hoot.
The boys in Tender Years play at a comfy volume, allowing for talk and the real purpose for the geriatric crowd making this place home: pick ups. Seriously. Every time I leave Andrea alone to take a leak, I come back to see a guy asking her to dance or see a grin on her face followed by a story about some guy asking her to dance. I have never had to get shitty with any of the fellows, as it is for the most part a chill bar.
I say for the most part because we did witness a great dustup one evening. An older lady was walking off the dance floor (I will never refer to anyone in this story as older again, just assume that they are), when she was stopped by a woman sitting at a table on the aisle. The women at the table told her in a voice plenty loud for all to hear that she should never whisper sweet nothings in her man’s ear or there would be consequences. I could not hear the dancing lady’s rebuttal, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an apology because the lady at the table stood up and took this argument to a new level poking her finger into the dancing lady’s bulging tummy and asking, “Why would he want to dance with someone as fat as you anyway?”
I congratulate both ladies for shedding forty years off their lives, and reverting back to junior high behavior. I might also mention that the guy they were sparring over was a faux cowboy with little to offer from a looks standpoint. Perhaps he was known to be a frequent visitor to The Mens Clinic.
Did I mention that the pizza at Sportsmen’s is pretty good, that getting a drink is easy and not a strain on the wallet? That Tender Years is a pretty decent cover band ( songs include All Day and Some of the Night, You Can Leave Your Toupee On and I Saw her Leaning There).
Go to Sportsmen’s, eat some pizza, drink your drink, watch or partake in the shenanigans on the dance floor and feel young again (comparatively).
Cheers, Jim
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