Slump-Breaker

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Allow me to assist those of you who might be unfamiliar with the term (women). It stems from baseball. When a hitter is struggling over a long period, his teammates will suggest he find a slump-breaker. That “thing” is usually non-baseball related. He is encouraged to do something out of the ordinary to break the curse.

Now, legend has it that, in some cases, this would entail sleeping with someone he ordinarily wouldn’t. When I say “wouldn’t,” I am referring to a woman beneath—not above—his standards.

True, there are people who find that concept offensive. (I find people who find offense offensive. Yes, including me.) Assuming it is consensual, there’s no reason for offense. The slumper needs to get his mind off that damn curveball, and the slump-breaker gets some much-needed penetration from a handsome athlete with scabby knees.

One might suggest non-sexual slump-breakers, such as:

  • Meditation.
  • A juice cleanse.
  • Sleeping on the other side of the bed.
  • Wearing your hat backwards.
  • Masturbating with your opposite hand. (Sorry, that one could be considered sexual. At least there’s no walk of shame involved. I guess the hand could hide in a pocket. Poor thing.)

I can speak from experience here. Non-sexual slump-breakers don’t work. Unfucking requires fucking.

“What about women, Uncle Philsie? Don’t women go into slump periods? How’s a girl supposed to snap out of it? Bang a beastly boy?”

Sure.

Let me be clear here that no man would be offended to play the role of slump-breaker. Sign my ass up. Shit, I’ll wear a mask, if you want. Your girlfriends can toss all sorts of “ew” at me, and I’ll remain unscathed. As long as my evening includes a non-self-induced orgasm, I’m a happy camper.

“You’re telling me that if Janice needs a slump-breaker, and she picks you, that doesn’t chaff you?”

“Not even a little.”

“She’s basically saying she would never sleep with a swine like you, but she’s desperate, so you’re it.”

“Yes, I am.”

“She’s using you based on a silly superstition made up by a bunch of clubhouse perverts to justify their inabilities to place bat on ball.”

“I’m happy to be a disposable lover.”

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.