PSU

“Take care of your body. It’s the only place you have to live.” – Jim Rohn

I was taken out to the ballgame by a group of buddies. Naturally, we spent most of the time questioning umpires and pointing out delicious women in nearby sections. What women need to understand (and, they should, because they do the same damn thing) is that when men objectify a woman or body part, we do so with the utmost sense of love and appreciation. It is somehow more acceptable to say, “Look at those tits,” than it is to say, “Look at her tits!” I assume this is because the “her” connected to those tremendous globs of glands may also be connected to another man or, worse, a bit too young to have old creepers oohing and ahhing her like fireworks.

Last night, I was exposed to a new term, which I adore and have adopted. It’s an acronym, actually: PSU. (No, this has nothing to do with the Nittany Boy Soapers.) Notably, this term may be applied to either gender. Most recently, it was used in the following sentence:

“Wow, what a rack! I wonder how the PSU is.”

PSU, as in Pussy Support Unit.

If you’re cringing, simply trade “Pussy” for “Penis”–something I can’t bring myself to consider, no matter how many trips I take to the desert.

A PSU is basically the rest–the chaff, the peel, the flesh, the emotions, what have you. There’s really no reason to take offense, as there was no assumption made about a faulty PSU. He simply wondered how it was. It may have been spectacular as well. Pristine, even. Sometimes fast, comfortable cars come with fine exteriors and minimal maintenance requirements. That PSU could be some quad-core, multi-giga-ram shit.

Now, if you’re curious to know if any of my fellow swine and I had the testicular fortitude to approach her and speak to her in order to learn more about the SU and take our minds off the P, well, let’s just say we left the pretty little toy on the shelf where she belongs.

I’ve been with or near enough packs of women to know the same objectification happens as they scan the area for sausage.

“Ah. Ladies, may I call your attention to heavenly bartender boy, with eyes like pools of arctic ice.”

“Nice. This may require further investigation to determine if it has a functional PSU.”

“It certainly pours a heavy drink–a plus.”

“It also was very polite when taking our order. I say kudos to the designers.”

“Does it dance?”

“Lord, who knows?”

“Do you think it kisses properly? I’d hate to invest in the PSU, only to find a sloppy leak.”

“Ee-yuck. Think it has an owner?”

“Possibly. But, we all know the PSU can be confused and hacked into quite easily. Pardon me while I layer on some lip gloss.”

“There are other Ps in the vicinity, my dears. Perhaps, we shouldn’t be hasty.”

“True, but there seem to be quite a few rusty, old PSUs lying around.”

“Sometimes those are more reliable.”

“And, sometimes they need Vitamin V to function properly.”

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.

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