The autumn months have always been a purgatory of sorts for the average American male: Weekends, not to mention weekdays, are dominated by the MLB playoffs, the arrival of the NHL season, and, of course, a never-ending smorgasbord of televised football action. But kissing goodbye to the bright sunshine and longer days of summer—both of which are conducive to your wife/girlfriend treating you like a plantation slave out in the yard and around the house—doesn’t necessarily mean all the fun has to be extracted from your Direct TV. Because I am neither married nor locked into a committed relationship, I reserve the right to look for the possibility of sex around any corner, in any task, no matter how daunting and/or domestic.
So, this Saturday, when your significant other asks you to leave your favorite Oktoberfest brew and the Oklahoma/Texas game behind, do not protest. For chances are, a furious gutter-cleaning can turn into a serious pipe-laying faster than you can say “spread offense.”
1. The Leaky Faucet: This is any easy one. We men know how irritating and downright frustrating a little premature drip can be; there’s a mighty fine line between marathon man and two-pump chump. All males, at least the craftsman types, know that the root of solving any leaky plumbing fixture starts with turning off the water valve, much like you would after a long night of jaegerbombs. But I digress.
First off, ignore the picture (it’s for dramatic effect), because you’ll want to make it a point to wear your nastiest flannel cut-off shirt, so as to give your lady friend the impression that you look like a real plumber. This part of the costume also lends a nice hand in the foreplay sequence. Secondly, dust off those tools your father-in-law bought for you and arrange them professionally in a tool belt. If no belt can be had, simply duct-tape a Phillips/flathead screwdriver, adjustable wrench, compound adhesive and a utility knife to your waist. Finish off the stereotype plumber look with a soiled pair of damaged Wranglers–they’ll add ruggedness.
Now that the look is complete, you’re ready to tackle the task at hand, at least for a while. Start off by diving headlong into the undercarriage of your sink and locating the water valve, all the while making sure your jeans start to slide ever so slightly below your belt-line, exposing the often ridiculed but essential “plumber’s crack.” The hilarity that ensues on the part of your onlooking gal will prove crucial to you avoiding the task at hand and, more importantly, getting what you really want. After you butter her up, proceed to the second step, whereby you remove preferably the hot water knob on the actual faucet and its accompanying valve. Almost immediately, the water supply she could have sworn she watched you turn off just a second ago will coming shoot out like an active volcano, showering the two of you in a shrewdly premeditated and romantic downpour. It will only be a matter of seconds before she completely forgets about the o-ring she was supposed to pick up from Ace and prepares to put on her O-face.
2. Raking the Leaves: This one’s a tad bit trickier but completely worthwhile if you’re talented enough to pull it off undetected by nosy neighbors and those pesky public indecency laws. In addition to the obvious disadvantages, disposing of the leaves carries with it the possibility that you might have to transport the yard waste to a local park for some illegal dumping. But, hey, you’ll probably get caught having sex in public anyway, so why not double the citation while you’re forking near a babbling creek. And if, by chance, your yard is without any full-grown Oaks, agree to volunteer your time at said park by assisting the hired help at the city-owned grounds in an act of good-will. If nothing else, it will only help your cause that much more.
Besides the rake, which is, needless to say, paramount to your sexual undertaking, you’ll need a bottle of Visine to help you in your quest. Why? Because men never, ever cry when raking leaves, so she’ll definitely know something is emotionally afoot. But be careful not to break out your aid too quickly. This is will only create damaging suspicion. Instead, put in some actual work for a solid 30 minutes or so. As you surgically draw in the troublesome leaves from the far reaches of your lawn and adjoin them into a tidy uniform pile, initialize your inner diva and contemplate how you have been so rudely deprived of your ritualistic masculine weekend pleasures. With a slight of hand that can only be impaired if you ingested a handle of Jack the night before, cup the Visine and swipe the product across both pupils, careful to squeeze at least three hearty drops into each eye socket. This will ensure a lengthy deluge of fake tears and enhance the bloodshot effect.
With each onsetting sniffle, your snuggle-bunny will begin to wonder how a simple autumn chore could elicit such strong feelings. The second her supple hand touches your shoulder, deny anything’s wrong and continue raking. When she pushes, pause, hold your yard tool erect, with the wood tip placed firmly flush with your chin, and gently begin to peel back the layers. Confess that the day’s duty is rapidly becoming eerily reminiscent of those crisp fall days when your late father would share his October weekends taking you under his wing to complete an array of yard chores. The kicker: You happen to be using the same steel-plated rake your dad used to so methodically utilize. By this time, the Visine will have settled into the tear duct and you might actually think that your father’s soul has descended for a quick visit. No disrespect to your deceased parent, but after you turn to face your woman, who is now bawling as well, you may stop lamenting your father’s absence and finally realize the real reason why your mom would randomly join him in raking the leaves for thirty minutes at a time.
3. Carving a Pumpkin: More than any other symbol, perhaps the Jack o’ Lantern permeates the warmth of the autumn season and provides us with an activity even the most dysfunctional family can share. And if you don’t play your cards correctly while you’re slicing and dicing that god forsaken oversized squash with your love, you’ll find yourself doing some jacking all by your lonesome.
Like most activities that feature a girlfriend/wife forcing her boyfriend/husband into action, this specific project will test your mettle by threatening to turn your penis into an inverted semblance of vagina gone wrong; we don’t know what that means, either, but it sounds bad. But remember, if all goes well, the reward could be twofold. Yes, my friends, I am referring to a good ‘ol long-day trip to the pumpkin patch, complete with the crotchtastically itchy hayride and non-alcoholic hot apple cider. Because everyone knows it’s too cache nowadays to buy a huge orange gourde at the local market fifteen fucking minutes from home. Furthermore, it angers the powers that be to disembowel and carve a pumpkin when it’s still daylight, simply because you can’t immediately see the fruits of your labor.
After the two of you have spent the first quarter of the game arguing over which patch to visit, come to a conclusion, accept the inevitable and begin the getting-it-over process. Once you have taken ten different highways that are all named after the final four letters of the alphabet and you arrive at your destination, ditch the sour attitude and instantaneously morph into happy-go-lucky guy who can’t wait to have his picture taken in one of those wooden murals with the heads cut out. This will help ease the pain that awaits around the corner.
Fast-forward six hours: Your flat-front Dockers are smeared in moist hay residue and some sort of animal manure; your bladder, which is full, is screaming for a Budweiser in order to lessen the sting of the cider; and the person responsible for all of this is still contemplating stopping at WalMart on the way home to buy a scarecrow. But look at the bright side: You found the dream pumpkin, and that, sir, means that things could not be any better right now.
Okay, so the ascent has been perilous, but it has nonetheless been completed. It’s now time to start the downhill portion, which will seem comparably less strenuous, especially if you’re capable of sealing the deal. The weapons necessary for the deployment of your sexual onslaught are few. Equipped with a makeshift carving kit and a Ron Jeremy-like confidence, sit down at the dining room table with your sweetness and prized pumpkin eagerly ready to machete your way to some reverse cowgirl. Before you engage, however, offer to give the female a spot to sit on your lap so that the both of you can get an unobstructed view of the goofy face and bubble-lettered ‘Happy Halloween’ greeting that she’s about to stencil on the front.
Once you pop your top—of the pumpkin, that is—you will finally be on the cusp of embarking on the day’s key stage–a precursor of things to come and, coincidentally, the most disgusting part of your efforts. Situating your outstretched arms alongside hers, cup your mitts around hers, so as to indicate you are all about dominating this pumpkin together. Then, dive right in, all the while being oddly aware that what you are about to feel might seem like the two of you are performing hand-oral on another woman. With each slimy extraction of the pumpkin’s innards, be sure to brush hands with your lover, which will help increase the palpability of the sexual tension. What results is a memorable scene strikingly similar to that in the Oscar-winning film Ghost, when Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze joined forces to mold that masterpiece out of clay. Yeah, I agree it’s a bumber Swayze won’t be there to watch, but that’s a scenario for a later date and a different article.
The clincher, however bold it may be, is absolutely necessary, and it occurs when nearly half of the seeds and insides have been removed. Slowly begin to remove your hands from inside the pumpkin. As she continues to dig, caressingly whisk your messy paws down the length of her arms. If things are meant to be, she will put up little defense, because she will feel as if she is being massaged with some sort of autumn-scented massage oil. The next sound you hear will be two handfuls worth of pumpkin intestine sloshing against the dry wall. The carving will come to a welcomed and abrupt end, and you, buddy, will be in rarefied air.
You may be wondering about the fate of the pumpkin’s face, a feature that officially makes up a Jack o’ Lantern. Ah! I told you in the beginning that this particular chore carried the potential of multiple rewards. Well, if your sexual reputation proceeds you, the Ms., still glowing from the night before, will pounce on the chance to put her personal stamp on the pumpkin while you relish the taste of victory immersed in a full day of NFL matchups.