Tim and I had been living selfish, self-centered lives for a long time. Yes, we had found sexual satisfaction and bliss in each other's arms, but what about the rest of the world? What about them? We looked around every day and saw bored, frustrated, unhappy men and women. We knew it was because they weren't getting off, but how could we help? After all, we were just ordinary people. Just one little couple. Nothing special. We felt helpless and decided we wanted to make a difference. And isn't that what makes life worth living? Hmm?

We discussed possibly launching a telethon, like a sexual "Jerry's Kids" type of deal. Tim had some excellent ideas along these lines. First, we'd have to get a phone bank going, with volunteers to work those ringing phones as donations poured in to help the victims of crippling sexual frustration and loneliness. Then, of course, we'd need a Poster Man or Poster Woman for sexual deprivation and unhappiness. (There'd be no sexual Poster Child of course, that's a WHOLE other telethon!).

Our next door neighbor, Josh, seemed to be the perfect and ideal candidate for Sexual Deprivation Poster Man. He was 45, married for 20 years to his beautiful yet materialistic high school sweetheart, and therefore, we knew for an absolute certainty and beyond all doubt, that he hadn't had any type of sexual relations for approximately 19 1/2 of the past 20 years. Yep, just your typical adult married male. Josh would be a wonderful Poster Man for sexual grief. We knew the minute the audience saw his sad, twisted face, his shoulders stooped, his shuffling, uneven walk and somewhat unbalanced gait, his pants lacking any visible signs of balls or a hard on, (he'd lost those years ago, poor guy), the donations would pour in like a huge ejaculation of love!

In all fairness, and to give equal time to the opposite sex, we also needed a Poster Woman of sexual bitterness. I suggested to Tim that his mother, Beth, would make an excellent candidate. He immediately agreed. At 65, she was the most sexually crippled person either of us knew. Her youthful looks now completely and utterly vanished, her breasts sagging to her knees, her vagina dry as the Sahara Desert, all she had in her rotten life was shopping, shopping and more shopping. But shopping excessively hadn't compensated for the lack of a good screwing. We both knew how tormented she was. Of course, sometimes the sexually disabled among us are the cause of their own "disability".

You see, Beth's husband had been totally impotent since he was 30, working 5 jobs so that Beth could live in the best of neighborhoods. But let's not blame the victim, okay? That would NOT be nice. That doesn't help Beth to heal! And healing is the goal of our little telethon. Again, a typically tragic but all too common story. So, it was settled. Josh and Beth would be the official faces of our telethon.

But what to call our show? We needed a really descriptive, catchy name. Tim thought and thought. He was so good at thinking!

"How about: "We Are The World"?

"Tim, that's been done."

"Well, can't we make it an Africa thing? Tie starving people into it somehow?"

"No! People in Africa aren't sexually deprived, Tim! They fuck even when they're starving to death! Our audience is the truly sexually miserable and disabled."

"You mean, like in suburbia?"

"Right, those poor, lost souls. Like Josh and Beth."

"Oh, you're right. I forgot. I need to stay focused. "

"I like acronyms, Tim, how about... SOPAD"

"What's SOPAD?"

"Save Our Pussies And Dicks!"

"hmmm, maybe."

"How about, SODAP?"

"Uh, let me guess, that would be Save Our Dicks And Pussies? Very funny Tim! The men always gotta have top billing, hmm?"

"Ha, yeah, babe! Lame joke. Well, okay, so what else?"

"I like ROG - Rescue Our Genitals!"

"Okay, ROG it is. ROG ROG ROG! Rescue Our Genitals! NOW! I think people can get behind that! So to speak!"

Well, things are progressing. We've got our phone bank, our pathetic Poster Man and Woman, our catchy name, and now for the entertainment. Every telethon must have entertainment. We considered Charo, but decided she was lacking in even the most basic understanding of what it means to be sexually deprived. She would hurt and insult our sensitive cripples, with her incessant "Coochie Coochie!" and her smutty jokes. Our people didn't need any of that in their sad faces! No.

We needed someone special. But who? The ultimate sexually deprived male comic, Rodney Dangerfield, unfortunately, had passed away recently and wasn't available, except to be with us all in spirit. Mr. "I Don't Get No Respect!" would have been a truly luminous star of our sex cripple telethon. He really understood what it meant to get no nookie on a regular basis, each and every day of his awful life. He didn't just talk the talk, he walked the walk! May he rest in peace. God bless his soul.