Our First Interview

        The discussion that I have heard surrounding this
news story has mostly been of two camps. The first declares that the man who was physically injured was the tragic victim, while others say that the woman, subject to emotional abuse, was really the one who had suffered.
        What a crock!
        The true victim of this was the severed member, but are the news agencies bothering to ask him how he feels about this whole thing? Is anybody concerned with his feelings? They refer to him as the "severed penis" as if he suddenly became a non-entity because he was no longer attached to a man, who according to all reports was a Grade-A idiot.
        So, in an effort to set the record straight, I arranged for a short phone-interview with the "true victim" so that he could finally have the opportunity to tell his own story. Obviously his name has been changed to protect his privacy.

Angry Talking Penis: First off, I want to thank you for taking the time to talk to us. I imagine it's a particularly trying time for you.

John Thomas: Yes, it is, but I really appreciate the concern.

ATP: So, how are you doing today?

JT: Today is better, but it's been rough. Thank God for morphine.

ATP: How did this all start?

JT: First off, I want to say this was not any of my doing? Yes, I was involved, but I have to say that it was under protest. I mean, I was only doing my job.

ATP: I understand.

JT: We're living with these two women. Nice ladies. He's been married to the aunt for a while now. I got no complaints.

ATP: Uh-huh.

JT: But then the niece moves in. They're trying to help her get settled and all, but after a while he starts trying to make time with the niece. When the wife is away, he comes up with excuses to spend more time with her. At first, she's kind of cool to him, but eventually he starts wearing her down. Before you know it, I'm doing double duty.

ATP: How did you feel about that?

JT: Well, I have to admit that at first, I liked all the attention. It was nice, but after a while it just became stressful.

ATP: How so?

JT: I mean he's not giving me any rest. Every opportunity he has, he's making time with these women. He even still found the energy to tug on me when neither one of them was available. It was just exhausting. I couldn't catch a break.

ATP: He was insatiable.

JT: No, he's a god damned idiot. Look, I know that I'm just a penis, but even I know that screwing around with two women at the same time can only lead to trouble. But to screw around with relatives? Under the same roof? It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this was going to end bad? Jeez, I don't even have a brain and I knew this was going to be a train wreck.

ATP: What did you do?

JT: What could I do? I mean I get erect. That's what I do. That's what I'm built for. It doesn't mean that I've got to get used every time it happens. People have been blaming me as if it was my fault. But I'm not the one with two legs. Hell, if I was a biped I would have walked away from this mess a long time ago.

ATP: So, what happened that night?

JT: Well, the wife had found out about them and he had to move out.

ATP: So, you were finally able to get some rest?

JT: Hell no, he was still screwing around with both of them.

ATP: Unbelievable. The two women were still living together?

JT: Yeah, but finally the wife had enough and told him that he had to put an end to his relationship with the niece. So, he goes to the house and tells her that it's over and she just loses it. He'd been making all these promises to her for the past year, talking about leaving his wife and all that. She's pissed. She's screaming, throwing things. I wanted to get the hell out.

ATP: And then?

JT: He's finally calms her down and she's crying and then she says she wants to make love to him one last time.

ATP: Oh, no.

JT: Tell me about it. I'm all engorged now, but I'm trying not to be. I'm trying to think about anything else: baseball statistics, laundry detergent, the last episode of American Idol...

ATP: That never works for me. It's our burden in life.

JT: Yeah, well. we end up in the bedroom and suddenly she convinces him to allow her to tie him up and the idiot agrees to it. Hell, I may be only a mass of spongy tissue and veins, but even I know you don't agree to do that when a woman only minutes before was yelling and screaming and threatening to kill you.

ATP: Absolutely.

JT: He's all tied up and then she runs out of the room. Next things you know, she's back with that big ass kitchen knife in her hand.

ATP: Oh my God.

JT: I couldn't shrink back fast enough.

ATP: You must have been terrified.

JT: I didn't have time to be scared. One moment, I'm looking at this big shiny blade and the next moment, I'm staring out from the wrong end of a toilet bowl.

ATP: I'm shuddering.

JT: Then there's this loud roar and the world just starts spinning. I'm going round and round. I'm tumbling end over end and then suddenly everything goes black.

ATP: She flushed you?

JT: Yeah, after all the things I'd done for her. The ingratitude. I mean why the hell did she take it out on me? I'll never understand it. I mean this guy's real problem was sitting on top of his shoulders, not hanging out between his legs.

ATP: Amen. You're preaching to the choir. How'd you manage to not get sent out into the sewer system.

JT: I managed to fix myself into that S-curve in the pipes. I just jammed myself in there. I don't know what I was hoping for, but I just knew that if I let go it was really over for me.

ATP: What were you thinking?

JT: I was surprisingly calm. I wasn't panicked or anything. Despite the stench down there, I managed to somehow make my peace. I don't know how long I was down there, but I was ready to just let it all go, when I heard all this noise. Then next you know, the whole world was shaking and then I was falling in the air and I found myself laying in the bathtub. Someone had taken apart the toilet, turned it over and dropped me into the tub.

ATP: You must have been relieved.

JT: I was never happier to see a pair of strange hands reaching for me. Let me tell you. Though the worst part was when they dropped me in that chest full of ice. Shit, that was cold. If I'd had anything to shrink back into I would have.

ATP: And they managed to reattach you.

JT: To the same fucking idiot I was connected to in the first place. You would have thought they'd find somebody else to connect me to, somebody with a little more god-damned sense, but no. Sometimes, I think I would have been better off in the hole.

ATP: And now you're doing better?

JT: I'm okay, a little depressed, but otherwise I'm fine, though that stupid son of a bitch actually tried to fiddle with me this morning. He should be restrained.

ATP: What would you say is the biggest lesson that you've learned from this?

JT: Besides knowing that I'm connected to the world's biggest nimrod, it has to be the fact that now I don't think that being flaccid is as bad of a thing as I used to think it was. Being a a little limp a little more often would have saved me a lot of trouble.

ATP: Thanks for taking the time to share your story with my readers.

JT: Thank you. It's great to know that our kind finally have a voice. I've got to go. We're due for another hit of morphine. These stitches are killing me.

Everybody Wants to Get In On It

        I no sooner put up a single post on this blog, when the a-hole next door starts complaining.
        
        "I want a blog. It's not fair that only you get one. I got something to say too you know?"
        
        Yeah, just what the world needs: another asshole with an opinion.
        
        He is such a whining little bitch. Always complaining about something. If it wasn't for the Twins standing between me and him, I'd have given Sphincter-Boy what-for a long time ago.
        
        "Nobody likes me," he says. "I got feelings too. You're so lucky. At least he plays with you every once in a while. What about me? I'd like some attention too you know?"

        The only break I ever get is when the old boy we're attached to doesn't eat enough fiber. It's the only time Sphincter-Boy actually shuts up.

        "You're probably only writing about yourself to tell everybody how wonderful you are. 'Look at me. I'm such a great penis. Aren't I so beautiful, so talented'." He keeps on like this for hours. "I got qualities to you know? It's just not all about you."

        He's right on that count. This is not all about me. I recognize that blogs are often seen as an exercise of "ego", a public declaration that one's opinion - regardless of how well or ill-informed - deserves to be shared with the world. I recognize that I risk being seen that way, but nevertheless I write of the injustice that I see.

        It's all about respect.

        I don't know when or why it happened, but we penises have become the subject of ridicule and derision, for no better reason than for just being ourselves. Granted we have been ill-used on many occasions, but is that "our" fault? We have no control over the idiots that we're attached to, despite claims to the contrary. Yeah, we hog the blood supply every once in a while, but that doesn't make us bad.

        Yet, look where we've come. We were once wonderfully portrayed in art and paintings with elegance and style:

.

        Now, we're relegated to this:




        In an age when vaginas are getting their own "monologues" to fame and acclaim, we have to settle for a little, plastic dancing phallus.

        It's all about prejudice, plain and simple. I mean what else could it be? Despite our obvious differences in design and functionality, penises and vaginas are basically made with the same intention in mind. So, why all of a sudden is one derided and vilified, while the other is given its own god-damned sit-com?

        Hell, we all developed from the same tissues during those early days in the womb. It's only one little chromosome that makes any god-damned difference, but does anyone remember that? Nooooooo!

        So, this is not just about me. This is more than just a single phallus, rising up and raging against a cold and indifferent world. No, it's more than that. This is about revolution.

        Rise up, brothers! Let's reclaim our rightful place. Stand up straight and proud and in one-unified voice say:

        "We're mad as hell as we're not going to take it anymore!"

        "I'm feeling kind of itchee." It's Sphincter-Boy. "I think my hemorrhoids are acting up again."

        Christ, what I wouldn't give for a couple of more inches.

        

I'm mad. I'm damn mad. Have been for a very long time, close to forty years and I'm just sick and tired of having to be quiet, expected to just hang here waiting to be handled or scratched. What kind of life is that? Tell me.

You're god damned right I'm pissed. (And yes, I know what I just said is hi-la-ri-ous coming from a penis, but screw you.)

What do I have to be angry about? Are you even interested? Have you even pondered the question? Or are you just sitting there at your computer thinking: "A penis can't talk."? We'll I'm here to tell you I can talk and I can fucking type too. Just because it ain't easy, doesn't mean it can't happen. Though it is a motherfucker to hold down that shift key.

Why am I so angry? Hell, you'd be angry too if you knew that your whole life was going to be spent living next to a pair of sweaty balls and an asshole. But that's not why I'm mad today. I'm mad at the guy I'm attached too, yeah that punk ass little bitch.

Now, I got a list of things to complain about with this guy. If I could type any faster, I'd be glad to share it all with you, but I can only type for so long. Chafing is a motherfucker.

What am I mad about today? It's all about the chones.

Now, considering how important he claims I am to him, you'd expect him to show a little appreciation. I'm not expecting a box of chocolates. I may have a mouth but I can't do nothing with chocolates but make a mess. But the least I should expect is to be bundled in some decent, clean chones. It is that too much to ask?

What does he wear now, but some ratty ass chones that barely hang on his flat ass. They've got holes in them too. You'd think Mothra's little cousin had gone to town. If that wasn't bad enough they're permanently stained. I won't tell with you with what as I am partly responsible for that, but just let me say that after a time there is only so much laundry detergent and bleach can do.

Now, before you think that I'm completely ungrateful, let me say that I'm grateful that he prefers boxer briefs. That tighty- whitey shit don't play. The things are way too tight and on those occassions when my head slips through that gap in the front, I feel like I'm being choked. So, boxer briefs? Good move. They're comfortable and give me the space to breathe. I'm may not have seen the sun in years, but I do appreciate some fresh air every once in a while.

But these briefs he's got now are way too baggy. He lost a bunch of weight which was a good thing. He lost some of that gut so he now has a better view of "moi". (Yeah, I speak a little french. Any decent phallus should be well versed in the language of love.) The weight loss was great, but he never went out and bought a smaller set of chones.

So that shit that's already downright nasty to start with, just floats around me, provides no support and are just downright wrong. And to add insult to injury, the little bitch will wear them for three days straight before he finally throws them in the hamper. I've seen him smell the shit, to check whether he can stretch another day out of them.

Now, that's just nasty.

Now think how bad it is for me to have to brush up against that shit for most of the day.

So, yeah, I'm mad. I'm furious, but I've got to stop typing. I've been hitting the keys so hard, I'm starting to bruise.