A few years ago I was in White River building a log place for my cousin, Peter Chamberlain, son of Murph, who once played for the Habs and Leafs. Hockey runs in our families. Somehow the topic got to Viagra. Peter uses the stuff and gave a blow by blow account of how it works. I chirped in that my member was crooked with a bend to the left. “Try Viagra, that’ll straighten things out.”
When I got home to the Soo, I asked my brother-in-law doctor what he thought. He laughed which should have been a clue and ordered up 3 pills. I tried one and it definitely brought things to a head but a hard turn to the left. When I next talked to Pete, he suggested I take 2 pills. “That will definitely straighten things out.”
A few weeks later, I was leaving for White River for 10 days. Like I was being directed from above, I went to the sideboard and took the last 2 pills. Within 40 minutes there was not a wrinkle in my white, blood drained body. My eyes were huge and my mouth was pulled back like I was in a Spitfire dive headed straight into the ocean. My clothes were off and I stood beside the bed speaking in a high pitched voice. “How do you like this?” My wife looked at me, “I’m not interested, go to White River.” No amount of pleading or begging would change her mind.
To get my pants on, I had to duct tape my member to my leg, got into my truck and headed to White River. The trip seemed to take forever. I was afraid to let anyone see me or to watch me walk. I was like the Stickman.
I tried everything on what seemed like every bush road from Batchawana to White River, pole vaulting was not an option. Nothing helped and that night I went to bed with both eyes staring at the ceiling, exhausted. My member had taken on a life of its own. The condition lessened after 3 days but from time to time would start to harden for no reason.
That winter I was in Thunder Bay at Baldy Mountain for a ski race. The men’s washroom had 2 urinals fairly close together. For some unknown reason my member took on a semi and when I looked down I was urinating in the other guy’s urinal. I quickly whipped my bent shaft into my urinal. When I went back into the general area, I noticed the guy talking to his buddies, pointing at me.
To this day, I don’t feel like the member isn’t mine and I don’t trust it. Like my politics, I still lean slightly to the left.
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About the author: Brian Mealey was born in 1937 in White River, half way between the Sault and Thunder Bay. In those days travel was by CPR Rail, however canoe was and is his favourite mode of travel in the bush. Having been an intense hunter, fisherman and general bushman, he has learned to be a protector of all living things, particularly of moose. Most of his stories are drawn from his experiences travelling, working and playing in the Northern Ontario bush.
