Okay, so you think your sex life has taken a turn for the worse? Well at least you’re not my good friend Brussels Sprout. Brussels Sprout never gets laid. As in never, ever. Sure, you might be going through a six week, seven month, or eight year dry spell, but at least you can whack around your private petting zoo with your fingers. Brussels Sprout? Bro, Brussels Sprout doesn’t even have hands. Brussels Sprout ain’t ever getting off. We’re talking about a lifeform with negative orgasm probability, a body constructed of anti-sex-matter, a black hole of hole hope. Yeah dude, it’s THAT bad.
Look, you could try to help Brussels Sprout out here, really you could. Even ignoring the fact that Brussels Sprout doesn’t have internet access, you could try registering Brussels for eHarmony or OkCupid, but those algorithmic apps will just crap out a big old bag of electronic dust. They’re not built for a desperate case like this. There isn’t even a gender option for Brussels Sprout. You could lower your standards for online dating, thinking that maybe Tinder or Grindr or, god help us all, Plenty of Fish, might seem like the sort of low-hanging option that could get even the sleaziest scum a shameful sex score. But it’s not going to work. You have to chat on those apps. And Brussels can’t even read. Besides, who’s swiping right for a picture of a green, shriveled testicle? People want faces. Not sprouts.
Hey, you think to yourself, let’s just fly Brussels out to Amsterdam or Vegas or somewhere, anywhere where prostitution is legal. Which, in theory, totally could work. But how exactly is Brussels supposed to fly? You see a lot of vegetable identification cards and passports laying around? I sure as shit don’t. Without that paperwork, you’re not catching a flight. The TSA don’t play, son. And really, are you going to pay for that disappointing half-hour shame shower? Because Brussels can’t pay. Brussels doesn’t even have a job. No bank account. No life savings. Zip, zero, zilch. Do you see now? DO YOU FEEL THE FEELS OF BRUSSELS SPROUT YET?
There’s no fixing this problem, and that’s okay. It’s okay that Brussels Sprout is going to die alone, fading away from life in a sad, virginal wave goodbye to the waking world. It’s okay that Brussels Sprout will never feel the touch of loving embrace, the glowing warmth of sexual contact. It’s okay that Brussels Sprout has a pathetic, hopeless sex life. Don’t let that get you down. That’s nothing to get sad about. It’s just the way Brussels’ life was always going to work out.
But you, you’re different. Yes, you. You, on the six week, seven month, or eight year dry spell. You on the lifetime train of virginity. You about to give up on love. Don’t’ do that. You can find someone. Don’t be so hard on yourself. At least you’re not a Brussels Sprout. Just remember that!