I saw an Ageless Male pill commercial on ESPN and I’m wondering if it will really make me the man I want to be? That man is Thor, with a boner button, pectorals of Daniel Craig and wit of Deadpool. Also, the hair of David Beckham.
If I’m your genie, then POOF, you’re Ken Jeong. (Or Kathy Griffin.) No further questions.
I don’t know much about Ageless Male, other than I’m good. I don’t need a plethora of testosterone because it’s already hard enough to shave two daddy long legs, so I’d rather not involve my mug in extraneous razor-blade butchery.
I guess Ageless Male is a pill filled with junk that stimulates stuff in your body to make you feel all manly and such. One user carved an iPad out of a prairie dog. I read that one guy lifted up the Pearl Street Mall with his fingertips. There’s no guarantee for users to experience any of these success stories, but I also overheard in the men’s room that 69 users banged their broads for nearly six minutes before prematurely firehosing.
In my minimal research, Ageless Male’s claim to fame is the Testofen® — THIS IS A REGISTERED TRADEMARK, FYI, IN CASE YOU DIDN’T SEE THE ® — a formula that’s extracted from fenugreek, a plant in the bean (the musical fruit) family.
That was the extent of my research because — after spending way too much time Photoshopping a mini version of Jeong’s naked body into Cardi B’s cradling arms (minor setback by way of spell-checking his last name) — I became more intent on reading about this little fenugreek pal, which I’ve learned is quite beneficial. It’s said to offer relief from many of my ailments, like bowel issues, respiratory problems, inflammation and wounds.
I’m going to haul over to Vitamin Cottage to buy some. Dallas, I’ll let G.I. Joe take over.
Hey Dallas, it’s Joe, of the G.I. variety. I specialize in martial arts, so if you want a swift kick to the starfish, G.I. Joe is there. A real American hero. (I have to run it by Hasbro first.) Fantz keeps me in her purse for testosterone emergencies. I don’t know what that means, so I just chill out in her pill pocket and snort her allergy medicine until she pulls me out. It’s surprisingly not a bad time.
Let me tell you, Dallas, all you need to do to feel like a man is to taste your own blood. Pause for a diatribe of war stories.
Comprende compadre? That’s Spanish for, “Did you fucking hear me?”
Dallas? Say, “Sir, yes sir,” dammit.
G.I. Joe, get back into your special pocket. You’re yelling at my coffee mug. And pass me a Benadryl; I’m allergic to fenugreek.
Dallas, I trust the G.I. offered significant advice for you to get on the track to being the man you want to be? See if Debbie will do you. If you find success with Joe’s advice, you can borrow the plastic purse therapist on Tuesdays in exchange for a swift Thor bang.