The Harbinger

Sex. Three letters. A very small word that means more than most. It can be a verb, a noun, an adjective. It can lead to the miracle of life or the tragedy of death. It can start marriages and end them. Wars have been fought over sex. It can celebrate love or be the ultimate form of abuse. It can be used as a reward or withheld as a means of coercion. It can be entertainment or a sickness. It can be a right of passage or a morality marker.

The actual drive for sex is also very different between people. It can be affected by health, diet, sensory input (that’s smell, touch, taste, vision and hearing for those of you who don’t use big words), stress, hormone levels and emotions.

What it means to people runs from the infrared to the ultra violet spectrums. It can mean security and love or a chore that must be endured. To not have sex can make some people sick and unhappy, while others can get that way by having it.

Sex has so many facets that constantly change from person to person, is it any wonder so many people are completely baffled? With so much riding on it, the odds of having good sex seem worse than the chances of the Miami Dolphins winning the Super Bowl in 2007!

Considering the complexity of this little word, why do we even bother to try to figure it out? It should be studied and be offered as a degree, with all of it complexities and variables painstakingly measured and analyzed. But then, only geeks would have sex as they would be the only ones with any chance of obtaining mastery over this mysterious necessity. Society, nay the WORLD, as we know it, would be doomed!

But behold, there is a Rosetta Stone to this mystery that somehow, perhaps magically, ties the multitude of variables associated with sex together: Alcohol. Somehow, the power of alcohol is so great that it can reduce the Cantor’s Theorem of sex to prime numbers of satisfaction.

I have seen this magical elixir at work time and time again. Take two people having a random discussion about nothing much or something fascinating. Add alcohol. Stir. The discussion becomes more suggestive and innuendo abounds. A conversation about nuclear arms turns to the phallic nature of missal design and the merits of certain guidance systems and their long-distance capabilities. Girls who are casual or even good friends become lesbanisque exhibitionists. Men who can’t put together complete sentences can somehow enthrall women with even fewer words with lesser substance, like “nice tits” or “wanna see me ___________”. A person of the opposite sex once considered not quite “good enough” to catch your interest is magically transformed into the hottest thing in the establishment. Clothing becomes a strangulation device that must be removed at all cost!

And then…sex occurs…without all of the complexities of emotion or intentions that are inherent to civilized society. All your questions and concerns evaporate as your body takes over to do naturally what feels so damned good. This elixir is not limited to sex only, but also affects sexual peripherals, including providing mastery of singing, dancing, stunts, gymnastics and any other activity normally well out of your skill range.

Alas, like any good tale that involves magic, the effects of the potion will wear off in a couple of hours. When the baying dogs you so ruthlessly silenced return, they may be louder than they were before you took the potion. But that is another day. Till then, grab that bottle of Jaeger and slough off the crushing weight of society and insecurity. Take arms against oppression and create magic. Lets all get drunk….and screw.

Brought to you by Camp Chronic circa 1999.

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