When the Cubs Win the World Series

When the Cubs win the World Series, a wave of incredulous joy will sweep the land. All the people who have ever been underdogs or experienced self-doubt, or low self-esteem, which is everybody who ever lived, and for many, this is a lot of their living, and for a lucky few, this has only been a small part of their lives, will suddenly perceive themselves as valid human beings. They will accept themselves for who they are at the same time that they don't settle for being less than they can become. That is, their strivings to lose twenty pounds will be because they care about themselves and their health, not because they feel they have to resemble some 19-year-old heroin addict on the cover of a magazine. And the magazines that push the message that you have to look like that in order to be acceptable, much less sexy, fun to be with, and great in bed, will go out of business.

And when all the people feel good about themselves for who they are, their relationships with one another will naturally improve. When the Cubs win the World Series, governments will stop bickering because their leaders are no longer driven by fear. Everybody will relax and have a dog and a beer, even the fans of whichever team did not win the Series, because the miracle of a Cubs win will make everybody feel just that good.

When the Cubs win the World Series, people who are fighting and shooting each other will finally think, "What the fuck am I doing?" They will dismantle their weapons so the metal can be recycled into energy-producing windmills, and they will hug each other and say they are sorry for the pain and suffering they have caused, and they will be sincere about it because their eyes will be opened to the absolute senselessness of traveling halfway across our only world for no other purpose than to kill one's neighbor.

When the Cubs win the World Series, everybody will have great sex. This is a fact for many, many reasons. One reason is that men will have enough self-esteem that they won't any longer feel like the only way they can feel better is to pick on someone weaker and smaller than they are, i.e., women, and obviously this applies to some but not all men. And when women don't fear rape any more, and I am not talking about the fantasy rape, I am talking about the real deal, the act which is ugly and violent, and when rapists are no longer rapists because there is no longer any pain or cruelty in their spirit, everybody can relax and get on with the business of carnally enjoying one another and having a good time.

Another reason a Cubs win of the World Series will promote great sex, and this is a big one, is that the incredulous joy people feel will transmit directly to women who have been unable to experience orgasm. It can happen!! And oh, Sweet Mother of All That is Good and Pure, does it feel good when it does. These women will gasp in sharp, astonished pleasure and their nipples will be hard as meteorites and a veritable tidal wave of hot wetness will surge between their legs and their partners will ride the wave and they, too, will burst into heretofore never-thought-it-could-happen bliss. And who wants to wait 99 years for a hot bath like that?

And the women who practice yoga, and believe me their numbers will increase, will realize that Downward Facing Dog is a pose which is much better enjoyed when their partners are behind them, pressing a stiff phallus into their wet, eager flesh, as the sweat tickles and trickles down their trembling thighs, dripping from their hardened nipples as they moan at the slow, luxurious fucking. (Try putting your heels on a couple of phone books if you are too short. Let your ass wave in the breeze in a wanton display of kitty cat heat.) And their partners' orgasm will also be held, teetering on the brink of a pleasure so intense that it is unlike any feeling they could have imagined, hovering at the verrrrrrry tippy-top for longer than a soprano at the New York Metropolitan Opera can hold a note, until the glass shatters and they scream out their joy, and the noise will make the neighbors smile and reach for one another.

When the Cubs win the World Series, men who haven't yet figured it out will discover the rewards of bringing a woman to orgasm before they enter her, and even before that, the people on the mattress (or the sofa, or the dining room table, or hiding behind the teeny-weeny-almost-non-existent discount racks at Neiman Marcus) will take their sweet time exploring one another's bodies. A man will drive a woman berserk by nuzzling at her throat for twenty minutes, nipping and kissing while she increasingly squirms against him, thrusting her breasts at him in a desperate bid to be touched, and he will tease her until he knows that when he finally lays his hands to her tender, aching bosom, she will just about fly out of her own skin as her spine whiplashes in a rollercoaster of pure release. And the man will nudge aside the crotch of her soaking wet panties, and dip his fingers into the place where his cock is yearning to go, and know that he caused this bliss of the flesh, and he will feel on top of the world. And he will be. And shortly thereafter he will be on top of her, as they engage in a good old-fashioned game of Hide The Sausage, the delightful game in which everybody wins.

And when the Cubs win the World Series, women will learn the same damn lesson of how to drive a man insane with sexual longing (some would argue women already know this too well, but remember, I am talking about playing nice with one another, not being mean), by feathering their fingernails over his upper thighs, and circling around to just below the navel, touching and teasing everywhere but there, until he grabs her hand and presses it to his stiffie, and she will know the high of giving her man a boner that is just for her, not some half-starved one-name airbrushed supermodel, but her, his wife, the woman who shares the household chores and the finances, and is his equal partner in the yoke of dragging through a weary world in which the cell phone companies will take $500 out of your hide given a fraction of a chance, and it sure as hell helps to have a friend by your side through thick and thin. When the Cubs win the World Series, we will look in the eyes of our loved ones as we make love to them with a passion born of a foundation of years of trying hard to make things work, and winning. And the win is a deeply satisfying moment, one that is hard-won and richly deserved.

And finally, when the Cubs win the World Series, none of the writers who document the miracles will suffer from writers' block. The same healing waters of Kwan Yin that cascaded over governments and lovers will flow magically through the minds and fingers of artists everywhere in a bursting dam of creative juices. Someone will invent new words for "moan" and "groan" that concisely describe the rising pitch of a woman's voice when she is purely a sexual creature whose heat demands to be satisfied. So many terrific metaphors and images (including, unavoidably, those involving bats, balls, gloves, the Mound, receiving, getting past 2B, 3B, scoring a home run!) will occur to Literoticans that the readers will honestly vote 5, 5, 5, every time, because they are rolling around in a literary wiggle of fireworks-type satisfaction, torn between reading the cherry-red-hot words on the screen, and obeying their powerful inspiration to Love Thy Neighbor, preferably with considerable vigor and a dribble of Frangelico on the dick, there to be joyfully sucked off, so that the babbling torrent of happy words results in the creation of a delightfully sticky mess, and possibly the procreation of the human race. Readers will be compelled to post comments like Write more, your shamelessly tawdry text makes my heart leap and my cock spurt, damn! yur hawt, and the writers will walk around smiling all day, but so will the people to whom they have brought such a giggle, so it will be impossible to tell in public who is who. Or is that whom? Whatever.

All this and more is bound to occur when the Cubs win the World Series, so please don't make me wait. Don't make me wait any more. Give it to me, baby. I need you!