Your dick
Your dick (or your wedding tackle in British English) an unremarkable extremity hanging between your legs, is the primary source of your masculinity, thought to be responsible for 50% of your cognitive activity since the beginning of puberty. Primarily used for urination, it is also capable of ejaculation. Its proximity to your taint and testicles makes it somewhat of a hotspot for man stank.
Description[edit | edit source]
Described by ex-lovers, doctors and weird uncles as "sorta goofy looking", your dick is an appendage located between your legs, partially obscured by an untrimmed wasteland of pubic hair. While you claim that your dick is an ample 5.5 inches in length, impartial observers report its length to be somewhere around 4 inches. Typically hanging lifelessly between your pale thighs, you occasionally enter a state of arousal during which your dick stands to attention, pressing against the fabric of your trousers and embarrassing you during important presentations, charity toasts, and funeral processions. This generally occurs when you see or interact with a conventionally attractive female, and - although you refuse to admit it - Ryan Gosling.
While perfectly unappealing on its own, it is when combined your testicles that your dick becomes unpleasant to look at on an almost visceral level. Your bollocks, shrivelled and hanging abnormally low for a man of your age, give the entire ensemble a "mole rat" aesthetic. Some penii are outstanding in length, others in girth; yours, however, is simply there. Despite its vital role in your daily functioning - producing testosterone as well as providing an outlet for your vile yellow piss - critics generally agree that your dick isn't very pleasing to the eye.
The production of both smegma and sweat on and around your dick combine to form a veritable smorgasbord of unpleasant musky scents, an absolute nuclear bomb for the nose. This phenomena reached its peak initially during your "leather pants" phase, sunk drastically during the JNCO craze of the 90s and faced a resurgence during the early days of the skinny jeans trend, before you inevitably realised you're too old for this shit and just started wearing sensible cargo shorts everywhere. While you insist that this is due to manly pheromones secreted in order to attract a mate, the prevalent theory among people who have come into contact with your dick have concluded that you have poor hygiene standards. This theory is bolstered by the fact that, despite regular production of these "pheromones", you enjoy a far below average rate of female attraction.
Life[edit | edit source]
As you entered the world head-first, hairless and covered in shmutz, so too did your dick. Growing at around the same rate as you, your dick has been present for all of, and been the subject of many of, your various failures and humiliations.
As you entered your teens, you would quickly discover that your dick served as a source of immediate gratification. Your dick consequently became the subject of frequent abuse, being choked into submission whenever you were sure you had a minute alone. It is directly responsible for the installation of a lock on the door of your childhood bedroom. Since these carefree times, your libido has mostly dissipated, along with your lust for life and any residual happiness that wasn't bullied out of you in high school.
Believing yourself to be something of a comedian, you named your dick Womb Raider in your early 20s, much to the unamusement of any and all future girlfriends. While able to elicit a chuckle from your frat bro college buddies, your continued insistence on this cheap pun as a 30 year old man is more sad than funny, and mostly indicates your desire to cling onto a time in your life when you still had all of your hair and most of your career prospects. Around this time you flirted with the idea of employing enlargement methods such as pumping and taking testosterone booster pills, but ultimately - and correctly - concluded that even if they worked, you'd still be ugly, just with a big dick.
Critical reception[edit | edit source]
“I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to discuss that kind of thing. Doctor-patient confidentiality, you know. Who are you again? Do you have an appointment? You're not really supposed to come in here without an appointment. To be honest, I'm quite confused. This particular patient has only ever visited me for a recurring inner ear infection, frankly I don't think I could tell you much about his genitalia even if I were allowed to. Why exactly do you want to know this?”
Your ex-girlfriend Susan, with whom you shared an intimate night of acceptable love-making, described your dick as "not the worst [she's] seen, but definitely not the best." After a night of awkward banter, a pepperoni pizza which arrived cold, and two hits on a bong filled with low-quality marijuana (for which you were comically overcharged) you brought Susan back to your bedroom. Your best bud and college-appointed roommate Party Pete (real name Aleksandr Piotr Voskoboynikov, a Russian student with whom you shared a superficial bond over a mutual love of vodka) made an inappropriate comment on the size of Susan's bosom upon your arrival, rendering her immediately disgusted and not in the mood to do anything besides go home. A sentiment that would be echoed upon initial inspection of your dick. Susan refused to comment further, adding that it's "really uncool" of me to burst in on her therapy session to ask about the penis of a college boyfriend.
“Кто ты и почему ты мне звонишь?”
Acclaimed dong critic Gerard Cummings described your dick as "the penile equivalent of a gas station energy drink - does the job, but really doesn't have much over the thousands of identical examples. And, much as the gas station energy drink is often not worth braving the bacterial minefield that is the gas station itself, this mediocre penis is ultimately not worth the abhorrent personality of its owner. Girth and size wholly average. Ejaculate of moderate consistency, with a bizarre, almost citrus-y quality. Lingering aftertaste, but goes down smoothly enough. Scent abhorrent - so much so, in fact, that even the French would recoil in disgust." In response, you said "I don't even remember getting sucked off by that guy. But, hey, it coulda been during my college days. I could *really* put back the shots. Heh, I don't even remember most of it, I was such a party animal. Freshman year of college, I chugged vodka like it was going out of fashion. Y'know, one time I was taken to the ER because they found blood in my alcohol system! Haha, that's just the kinda thing we used to say back then. You know what I call my dick?"
Conclusion[edit | edit source]
Your dick is like your religion. No one cares if you have it, they only care if you wave it around in people's faces. Also, the Catholic church will employ you if you display a keen interest in introducing it to young boys. Which you do.