The Wilted Wootler

Parents have covered their child’s eyes at the sight. Dainty women have run into the street to avoid it. My wife has threatened physical violence if I didn’t put them away.

My Wootlers are things to behold.

First, so we’re all on the same page, I’ll need you to form a Wootler of your own. Put your ring and middle finger together. Tuck your thumb into your palm. Now spread your index and pinky finger out. You should be looking at a “W” shape on your hand. The “W” is for Woo (a general description of excited, party, rage guy). Now do it with both of your hands and put them on your head like antlers.

That is a Wootler.

When one has “his Wootlers on,” he is ready to go. Ready to ramble. Ready to rage.

For several months, my Wootlers have been erect. But after a recent trip to Sin City, my Wootlers have wilted. I’m not ready to rage. I’m not ready to ramble. I just want to sit at home.

Right now, this is disguising itself as a good thing. Frankly, I needed to calm down a little bit. I’m too old to party like a rock star.

My fear is this: Maybe my Wootlers have developed a sort of wimpotence. Maybe there will be no more raging, no more rambling. Maybe, to steal from and distort the words of the Yonder Mountain String Band, there is no more ramblin’ in the rambler.

Surely not…but at the same time…anyone know where I can find some Wiagra?