ANOTHER F-ING HOLIDAY!

After all of those years of mutual assured destruction, duck and cover jingles in the classroom, and downright dreaded doom of cold war reality, there is finally something about Russia to be admired. The headline in the Denver Post from late summer said it all! Russians get day off to procreate, then win prizes. It almost makes one want to become a communist.

As the story goes the Russian region of Ulyanovsk is fighting the Russian trend of a population decline. More Russians are dying than being born. That might have cause great cheer 30 years ago, but today the solution is inspiring. Russia has one-seventh of the worlds land mass, but only141 million people occupy the space. This region is offering a unique way for folks to give birth to “a patriot” on Russia’s national day.

Their procreation day dubbed the “Day of Conception” is September 12th. Who could argue with a holiday for something called the National Day of Conception, no matter when it’s celebrated? I can almost guarantee that 99 44/100% of the male population of the U.S. would line up the night before to participate in that holiday! On top of that if you give birth on Independence Day you stand a chance of winning prizes! Last year’s Russian couple collected an SUV. Others won TV’s, refrigerators, washing machines, and the like. In America such an SUV could be manufactured on a strictly limited basis. Produce only one of them a year for the contest winner and it will be deemed an instant “classic”. Of course the SUV could be produced by any car company as long as the model has a name like “the Sexcapade”, or we could just give the winner a hummer….again. Imagine finally being able to claim a trophy for your bedroom antics!

The U.S. would go wild for that especially if that means we get a “day off”, so to speak. Imagine the sounds around your neighborhood as everybody did their part and “pitched in.” Not only would it be rhythmic, but it would probably prove melodic and ear-plug worthy if the neighbor’s are anything like the people at my house. The holiday would be guaranteed to surpass Halloween and all of the others combined with the exception of Christmas. Christmas is mainly for children anyway so why not give the adults that are still young at heart their own humping holiday?

Since July 4th is our day of Independence, 9 months prior would be October 4th. That just so happens to be my wife’s birthday so it works doubly well for me. Who wouldn’t want to have their birthday off from work in order to lather up? I mean on your birthday you practically have to be in a coma not to get lucky! Even comatose patience sometimes “get some” depending on the quality of care of the nursing home they’ve been placed in unwittingly.

A day off for carnal knowledge as a goal sounds much more American than Russian. It also sounds like any night in every singles bar, but this would be different. It would be the duty of every citizen to “give it their all” for the good America’s future. It would be your duty damn it, your duty! Even the weirdo’s, grosso’s, fatso’s, and the freakishly hideous would have a sporting chance. Think of it as a holiday you’d be eager to celebrate; akin to those desperate last moments of your life. How else would you want to spend that time other than going out with a bang?

As the years go by, this annual holiday would give the U.S. all of the little rugrats that it will need to someday pay and reconstitute a sagging Social Security system. We’ll grow are way out of the looming Social Security crisis. The government for generations to come will be able to keep dipping their corrupt hands into the Social Security Fund, all because of our newly found holiday. We won’t have to worry about worker-to-retiree ratios anymore, or how much money is in the fund. When there are enough of the little buggers born, then we could curtail the program or give out condoms. No need to cut benefits, or raise premiums. Heck we could probably lower the cost to each of us. This is after all the country that gave us the sexual revolution, the pill, aids, Madonna, Brittany Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and a cast of Hollywood tramps dedicated to flaunting the human form; especially without underpants.

The years that October 4th would fall on a Wednesday would give new meaning to the phrase “Hump Day”. In any event the only way to traverse the ills of this country is through a national procreation day. Grow, grow, grow should be our chant. That is the same tune sung by many women any night of the week in most married person’s bedrooms around the country. The guy’s part of the process is like that of the blind man on the corner, only there’s no cup, no pencils; just an equal amount of begging. In a few years I’m sure the day destined to be the happiest of all holidays will carry it’s own slogan; something like “National Procreation Day, America’s favorite F-ing holiday!”

C'MON EVERYBODY, EXERCISE!

I have a theory as to why America has gotten so obese! Even our children have become little porkers. I can’t remember more than one person in my elementary school class that was overweight all of those years ago. Of course that one poor little fat kid that we nicknamed “Hunky Chunky Monkey” was excoriated ruthlessly by the rest of us thinner children in the name of comic relief. The only thing more interesting to talk about was Alana. She was the only other classmate aside from the chunky one who required a bra. She was popular because her chest was fat not despite it.

The rise in per capita weight within the citizenry coincides with the decline of the teen pregnancy rate. Kids are binging still, but no longer upon one another. In the 1980’s carnal snacking was quite the rage and created unwanted babies at an alarming rate. Kids were plopped onto the planet by unwed child-mothers who had the bodies of sticks and all of the sensuality of salmon swimming upstream. Somehow the boy population in those days didn’t need anything more than to share their testosterone with nearest shapeless girl as a societal pressure relief valve.

This phenomenon is not that different than what you find in marriages today. At the beginning, newlyweds are bumping and grinding like rabbits. You can tell who’s a recently married couple by simply taking a walk around the neighborhood on a few successive nights. The houses you hear all of those strange noises coming from all of the time are the ones with the bride and groom actively romping through their pleasure room. Listen long enough and you’ll hear performing feats of spectacular delight with a repertoire befitting its own chapter in the Kama Sutra. It may sound like she is being knifed, or he is doing a mad- bull stuck in a tar pit imitation, but really those are just the sound of true love (or some sloppy rendering, pleasures of the flesh).

Once the children start arriving for a couple the libido death knell is sounded. The ladies usually lose interest; the men forget what made them famous in the courtship, and focus more on how to land their lips around the tip of a long neck bottle of beer rather than around their woman in the same seductive way.

Then after a period of time, couples start to swallow all of the pent up sexual frustration. Just because there is no getting-it-on in great frequency anymore doesn’t mean the hormones don’t still rage. Fools start to consume their frustration in various forms of food and drink. To excess they go as they replace their favorite well positioned activities with a different sensory stimulation geared toward the taste buds. With the world of processed high fat foods the next thing you find is that the 9 months of gestation is replaced by 9 months of ingestion resulting in that mound above your waistline; it isn’t a baby either, it’s a beer belly.

If you want to find the most sexually frustrated folks in the neighborhood check out the largest ones. They are making their moves on a box of frosted flakes, a bowl of ice cream, a load of Oreo cookies, and a box of donuts instead of upon their spouse. You’ll notice that the ones gaining weight are on the down slope of the Saturday night love-machine frolics, while the ones getting in shape are rolling in the hay most often. Note that silent skinny person in the neighborhood; they don’t talk ‘cause their hoarse from all of that midnight vocalization between the sheets. They’re happy and making it, laughing all the way to the Lovin’ Time’s store for more supplies.

Staying in shape certainly means more than it use to in our modern society and now you know where one needs to be to properly exercise your mind, body and your demons. The bedroom is America’s gymnasium and playground. More couples need to get back to that regular role-playing slurp-sounding, great-to-be-alive style of exercise.