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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?