So I am on my computer, typing about my absolutely pathetic life -followed with the word “jkajahgsjdlfhdghfdjkflfhjfhf I rock” – and I look to the right. I see a blue pill – not some bullshit, who-gives-a-fuck Matrix shit – but a blue pill that actually means something. This blue pill stares at me, mocks me, tempts me and violates my fantasies into an uproar of awesomeness. I start to think, “Should I take it?” So, I reflect.

Well, a raging boner for six hours is something I have been dreaming of since I came out of the womb. Well, so has being in front of sexy women with a raging boner – something I have avoided with help from an image of grandma or a clock since I was twelve. So, as with any man a penis with a penis, the raging boner won, and so I decide to join the party of what is known as “The Viagra Effect.”

I pick up the small, “harmless” pill like I was some superior species not to be effected by some bio-engineered piece of shit. I stare at this object for about five minutes until I, well, caved into its mystical powers. I made sure I had a huge glass of water – twice the size any dehydrated cactus would ever need – and I indulged in the fruits that this mystical blue pill carries.

As it passed through my throat and into my unnecessary organs, I felt something kicking, trying to get out of my belly button. It was just pounding, wanting to see daylight. After I realized that I had to take a monster crap from the burrito I ate, I just sat and waited for the mystical powers to take full flight. I started to think of what it would do to me. Would it get me hard? Will I have a bigger penis? Will I grow balls out of my forehead? I pushed those petty thoughts aside, for I knew in about 15 minutes I would have a raging boner.

So I am minding my own business, i.e. twiddling my thumbs, blowing bubbles, cracking knuckles, and finally something hits me: A fucking skater playing Frisbee with his dog. But after I found a patch of grass to cool my head wound, I truly felt something kicking from my groin area. I tried, tried, tried so fucking hard not to attend to it – but then again I didn’t try – and instead I decided to indulge in this great power.

Hours went by. Nothing was stopping me. I was looking over my shoulder in suspicion of an evil intruder. So speaking, I was going to town on my groin area. I was laughing sinisterly as my razor sharp pencil was constantly being sharpened by blistered hands.

But after about 17 hours of coffee drinking, carpel tunnel and pruned fingers, I decided to actually listen to what my penis was saying: “Hit a homerun.” I was puzzled why my penis would say something about baseball after a complete slaughter of pleasure. “Hit a homerun.” After the second time, I started to look around as if God had imposed some words of raging, Viagra-induced-boner wisdom upon my soul. But then my guessing was quickly wiped away when I saw Rafael Palmeiro enter the room. He just pointed at me and said, “Andy, hit a homerun champ; you’re a slugger. No clocks for you.” He was right. He was a winner; I was a champ. An erect penis is always a good penis. And Viagra is the way to go whether your masturbating, having sex, engaged in an orgy or even when your giving a speech to group of a hundred sexy women.

Andrew Sweat is a third-year film and communications major.