Tell Me That’s not a Dick Sleeve I’m Seeing

Tuggie use

by Joe Buonfiglio

At the time of this writing, there is an actual “As Seen on TV” product being sold via Amazon.com called “The Tuggie.”  It’s a woolly little comforter to keep your willy toasty.  The promotional tagline for this must-have product is “The Fuzzy Sock That Warms Your Cock!”

I shit you not.


As one might readily expect, this got my gray matter all agitated. Why was such a product needed?  Who would buy such a product?  Was it … comfortable?  Did it bring one … happiness?

That’s when it hit me like an exploding cotton-candy machine at Satan’s own Carnival of Lost Souls: Happiness. Comfort.  Do I really know the difference?  Do you?

I pondered this self-interrogation for quite some time before realizing that I was spending far too fucking much of my day thinking about such trivia and, since I am not a philosophy professor getting paid to think about such bullshit, it’s probably best demonstrated by examples from my life. Keeping in mind that this question can only be answered on an extremely personal level (What constitutes “HAPPINESS” and “COMFORT” for me will not be the same as what it means to you.), here are those representative specimens resulting from my mentally taxing cerebral mêlée:


COMFORT: Sitting by a cozy fire on a chilly Christmas morning sipping from a warm cup of marshmallows-laden hot cocoa with a sleeping kitten in my lap that would become the children’s present that year.


HAPPINESS: Drawing a hellhound’s penis under “666” on that kitten’s forehead, and then yelling “OH MY GOD! THE BEAST IS A DEVIANT TOOL OF THE DEVIL!  KILL IT!  FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, KILL THE DAMN THING!” just as the kids enter the room hoping for some holiday joy under the tree.


COMFORT: Just as night begins to fall, the taste of that first fried Oreo at the state fair.


HAPPINESS: Secretly sneaking behind the mainstage at the state fair in the middle of the governor’s commencement “Let the fair begin!” speech and shoving one of those outrageously overpriced turkey legs up his ass just to watch his impromptu butt-surprise hoedown dance that the crowd of crackers will replicate in the audience thinking it’s part of the show.


COMFORT: Having a small, but intestinally liberating fart on the couch go unnoticed by the rest of the clan after the Thanksgiving meal.


HAPPINESS: Not getting away with a bombastic shart on a packed city bus on Halloween night, and by the next stop having the bus empty out and virtually become your own private limousine for the evening.


COMFORT: The smile on your young child’s face as the clown does his silly antics under the big top at the circus.


HAPPINESS: The smile on your face as the clown is squashed to death by Jumbo the elephant after you snuck back to the animal’s corral and gave the massive pachyderm that Bromo-dragonFLY LSD-laced bag of peanuts that made it go on a rampage as it entered the big top at the circus.


COMFORT: Coming home to a hot meal of homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy after a long day at work.


HAPPINESS: Coming home your significant other greeting you naked covered in gravy and dangling bondage handcuffs after a long day at work.


COMFORT: A night of “Netflix and chill.”


HAPPINESS: A night of “forensics and kill.”


COMFORT: Flannel pajamas.


HAPPINESS: Seeing a viral video of a serial peeping Tom caught on an ATM’s camera who is subsequently dubbed “The Flannel Pajama Menace” by the news media for obvious reasons.


COMFORT: Disneyland.


HAPPINESS: Flashmob alphabet-farting during the Princess Parade at Disneyland.


COMFORT: Knowing that the planet is now pronounced “your-uh-nuhs,” not “your anus.”


HAPPINESS: Knowing that you’re going to pronounce the planet “your anus” anyway.


COMFORT: A peanut butter and jelly sandwich.


HAPPINESS: A peanut butter and Irish whiskey sandwich … hold the peanut butter … and the sandwich.


COMFORT: Knowing that I already have everything I need in life in the family and friends I hold dear.


HAPPINESS: Unless they really want me to be happy, and then they’ll get me one of those Tuggie things on Amazon.

Have them rush-deliver it to my house.

By drone.

Now that would make me comfortably happy.


© 2015 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

 Sin título-1       twitter-button

Go ahead and leave a reply. What the hell, right?