Sunday’s With George Thatcher: Our Resident Bad-Ass In Raiderland Has Come UP With His Perfect Next Job! We Fear He May Be Over-Qualified At This Point In Life! Fun On A Sunday!

A Wannabe Harem Eunuch

It’s finally happening to me, in spite of many months of denial. Call it E.D., no angle to the dangle, Willy-Nilly, but In the immortal words of my hero Willie Nelson, “I have outlived my pecker.”

I’m told that this is not an abnormal condition, and that any number of men go through similar “changes,” which supposedly are all part of the aging process. What has aging got to do with it? I still get stiff in every other joint, so why is nature picking on the one that really gets my attention? Up until now I’ve been blissfully ignorant, celibate to be sure, but totally oblivious to the processes of change that are having their way with my aging body. I guess I must be giving off some bad elderly vibes, because I haven’t been approached by any hotties, around here, even if they think I may have money.

I know you guys are going to go wink-wink, nudge-nudge, and whisper in my ear that modern medicine has made this little blue pill which, when taken at the appropriate time and under the right circumstances, would restore the magic and make me do the Phoenix thing from the ashes of oblivion. But wouldn’t that mean I’d have to walk around jiggling my vial of magic pills as if I’m trolling for a trophy trout? No, subtlety is not one of my strong points, so I’d have to find a more direct approach. Like maybe a business card with my name and a logo that would read, “Still Playing With a Full D**k.” Come to think of it though, if you believe the old legend about Jack, he planted a handful of his magic pills one night, and look what the heck HE got!

All this musing would never, in my case anyway, lead to a practical result, so I say it’s time to put fantasies aside and settle on something to do – something for which my skill set would be both appropriate and useful to mankind. So having given career options a lot of thought this morning, I’ve finally hit on the solution: I’ll become a Harem Eunuch!

Think of it. There must be a couple of hundred wealthy Sheiks in the world whose supply chain of harem cuties has outpaced their ability to provide for each one’s willing submissiveness at the desired rate. Oh, the curse of plenty! And while each cutie is awaiting her turn in the nuptial tent, they need to be zealously guarded, and their “other” needs attended by qualified, but otherwise uninterested, guards. Enter the Senior Savior!

All I need to do is place an ad in, say, the OPEC Daily Chronicle, along with a private number, and the phone will start ringing off the wall. I can provide any number of private references from chicks who have gotten tired of waiting on my semi-morbidity to morph into some kind of resurrection, and would be glad (for a fee) to swear to my inability to rise to the occasion.

And I could provide other useful services when my guard duties permitted. I can still fly an airplane, and no Sheik worth his oil wells would be caught without a nice Gulfstream to fly his harem around the globe, in anticipation of the boss’s travel needs. Always, but always, accompanied by a bevy of his hand-picked favorites. “Don’t leave home without them,” would be our motto.

But don’t think I’ve achieved this stately age without having acquired the ability to plan ahead. I still have my prescription for those little blue pills, which will always be available in case of emergencies. As happens in all professions, older performers eventually “age out” and become candidates for retirement. In the harem business, this often occurs around the age of thirty, as the discerning Sheik is always on the lookout for fresh meat, so to speak. To keep peace in the harem, the soon-to-be-retired cutie is well- provided for, with a generous pension and a house on the Costa Brava. The wise Harem Eunuch will have cultivated good relations with the ladies, and once retired, she will certainly be needing a private Eunuch (with his own special medicine cabinet) to tend to her individual needs in coming years. A castrato with benefits, if you will.

I’m taking Arabic lessons now, and I’m learning to eat from the common dish – always with my right hand, of course. I’ve thrown away my freezerful of pork loins and I’m getting used to wearing these bloody robes with a rag around my head. Have I got a neat career plan, or what?

George “Abu ben Boogie” Thatcher October 2022

George is an American Bad Ass. He grew up in Jersey, flew B-52s in Vietnam, taught English, Spanish and other languages to children around the world, makes his own salsa, has been known to enjoy a beer or two and has called Lubbock home for a few years, just to entertain the locals. Welcome to Raiderland, Major. We are going to feature some of his writings going forward. Some new, some old. Some rhyme, some don’t. When it comes to George, there’s no box. So… enjoy our friend and enjoy his writings! – Hyatt