Be Politically Correct With Men
How To Be Politically Correct With Men

He does not have a FAT BEER GUT - He has developed a LIQUID GRAIN STORAGE FACILITY.

He is not a BAD DANCER - He is OVERLY CAUCASIAN.

He does not GET LOST ALL THE TIME - He INVESTIGATES ALTERNATIVE DESTINATIONS.

He is not BALDING - He is in FOLLICLE REGRESSION.

He is not a CRADLE SNATCHER - He prefers GENERATIONALLY DIFFERENTIAL RELATIONSHIPS.

He does not get FALLING-DOWN DRUNK - He becomes ACCIDENTALLY HORIZONTAL.

He is not a MALE CHAUVINIST PIG - He is a SWINE EMPATHIZING BIGOT.

He is not afraid of COMMITMENT - He is MONOGAMOUSLY CHALLENGED.

He does not STINK - He has HYGIENE AVERSION SYNDROME.

He is not OBSESSED WITH TELEVISED SPORTS - He has AN ATHLETIC TELEVISUAL ADDICTION.

He does not IGNORE YOU - He has ATTENTION SPAN DEFICIT DISORDER.

He is not a LAZY, MESSY SLOB - He LACKS HAND-VACUUM COORDINATION.

He does not tell ENDLESS, BORING, UNFUNNY JOKES - He is HUMORLY OVER-CONFIDENT.

A final diagnosis
Thought I'd let my doctor check me,
'Cause I didn't feel quite right. . .
All those aches and pains annoyed me
And I couldn't sleep at night.

He could find no real disorder
But he wouldn't let it rest.
What with Medicare and Blue Cross,
We would do a couple tests.

To the hospital he sent me
Though I didn't feel that bad.
He arranged for them to give me
Every test that could be had.

I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,
My aging frame displayed.
Stripped, on an ice cold table,
While my gizzards were x-rayed.

I was checked for worms and parasites,
For fungus and the crud,
While they pierced me with long needles
Taking samples of my blood.

Doctors came to check me over,
Probed and pushed and poked around,
And to make sure I was living
They then wired me for sound.

They have finally concluded,
Their results have filled a page.
What I have will someday kill me;
My affliction is old age.