The Penis

My dad has one. I started out as the twinkle in his eye, shot through his heat-seeking love missile, and ended up a star! – so the story goes.

I used to think having one would be easier. Periodic calls to attention, the odd damp awakening. I could deal with that if it meant I could unzip and pee anywhere, anytime. Oh – the freedom!

Concrete and mystical gods created and worshipped in the image of Captain Winkie.

Dickens, Milton, Shakespeare. I guess they each had one. I guess that’s why it’s called the canon. The power of the Pen-is in the literary world.

Once upon a time a prick named Chode and cock called Schlong, took a ride on the Baloney Pony. For lunch they ordered Beef Bayonet and Pork Sword with a side of Weiner. To be continued…

Jimmy, Johnson, Willy, Peter. I knew one of each. They were and likely still are – dicks!

With the crumble of concrete and incurable misfire, now I’m glad I don’t have one. I’m quite content sitting and from time to time borrowing one just for fun.