John F. McCullagh

(09/28/1954 / Flushing)


In a long happy marriage
Sometimes bedtime grows stale
Once toe curling sex fades
As libidos doth fail.

We both have tough jobs
And two kids of our own.
Sad, we both want to sleep
When we’re finally alone

The man at the store
Said “I have just the thing.
You really should try it-
makes your sex life take wing! ”

It wasn’t a porn flick
Or a blue pill to swallow,
Just a tiny transmitter
to hide in her pillow.

At night, as she slept,
The salesman explained
My subliminal message
would be fed to her brain.

With her passions inflamed
She would turn to her mate
Like the once nubile bride-
Leave the rest up to fate.

So I made a recording
With a saucy suggestion
Then looked forward to bedtime
hoping for the res-errection.

My bride’s a deep sleeper,
(A good thing since I snore)
The tape’s played two weeks now
And I still haven’t scored.

I completely was baffled
That salesman assured
That no “wood” would go wasted
No boner ignored.

Instead every night
About two thirty nine
I’d slip off to the bath
Where the “beat” would go on

I resolved to return
The unhelpful device
Before the guarantee ended
And I’d be out the price

Imagine my shock,
imagine my dread
When I found the transmitter
in my pillow instead!

Seems my wife had decided
To play with my head:
“Honey, go f8ck yourself,
If you wake me, you’re dead.”

Submitted: Saturday, September 07, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 09, 2013

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marital aide fails hubby

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