I have my testosterone drained a couple times a week. It’s a real pain in the ass, but if I didn’t, I would bust out of my clothes like Lou Ferringo turning into the Incredible Hulk. One week last year, I forgot to “get drained,” and I ruined a $1,500 J Press sports jacket I had just gotten in New York. Tore the damn thing to shreds. That’s not the first time I had forgotten about a “draining” appointment; all the other times when I had seen an attractive woman, I pulled her by her hair back to my caveman lair. A fellow can get into real trouble with my condition. Luckily, none of the women complained.
My condition, as it is known medically, “Uber-Hossness,” causes all sorts of issues: bar fights, refusal to ask directions, remote control clutching, excessive scratching and burping and yelling at tv sets during football games. However, perhaps the most significant symptom is extreme honesty.
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