1.23.2008

PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE

Just like you, I wake up, nuzzle my pillow girlfriend, Katya, shower, dress, leave for work, arrive, rail 3 lines of Adderall and crushed up Altoids of a mirror in my top left drawer, take one deep yogic breath, curse Mark Moreford/Jasper Johns, kiss my photo of fat-Elvis, and open my email. Such elaborate ritualism braces my sleep-addled mind for the impending bitter splash of spam emails (and the occasional subpoena). Everything about this exercise is designed to block out all the negative subliminal indications of my (real or imagined) physical inadequacy.

disprovingg580@effectsoft.com not only knows the size of my penis, but s/he truly believes I need to "improve" its size, girth, and related woman-satisfying qualities.

Why so harsh, disprovingg580@effectsoft.com? What do you know that I do not?

And what of colonistsvx46@fraser-group.com and his/her insistence that I require a "PhallusKing-sizedTerrell?" The idea is intriguing in its mystery, and as I struggle to decode this secret message (intended only for me and my... PhallusQueen-sized Terrell?), I wonder if that's really the key to happiness. Doesn't every man covet that ExtensivePenisEmelia? That EdgardoSizeableCock? The elusive SchlongGreatestGary? Surely those grinning billionaires fondling AnorexicPerfect-bosomJane on their yachts have what I should have "down there:"

a DomingScholngMan-size.

You know what, wz-1@ouinet.com? I'm not going to fall for your ploy (and you can keep your millions, Mr. Nigerian royalty). Your Jedi mind tricks will not work on me. I realized this morning, while jacking the beanstalk desperately searching for the courage to face the world sans black-tar heroin, that, quite frankly, I'm pleased with my junk the way it is, thank you very much.

My stuff has an inquisitive nature; he smiles in the same graceful way a swan looks upward to the sunrise, thankful for the hope of new dawn. He is playfully cheeky in the nearly imperceptible way that he curves left, like one lightly-cocked eyebrow above a wry grin. What a trickster! Strong as oak, tender as a kitten, my junk is perfect as it is. So I say to you, inhabits8@vonfraud.com, you can keep your promises of a CockDinosaurRaul. I'm not buyin' it. Nor do I care to "Teach [my] Woman Obediencey!" as unblockede0@cyclepup.com would have me do.

No, I will not believe the hype. The Dance Dance Revolution will not be televised. I will not bend to your spammy will! I say to you, PenisHappyMen of Earth, do not submit! Rise up and stab at them with Sporks of Justice! Hurl great clods of melted jellybeans at their advancing hordes! Pillage their cybervillage, and hold their e-wenches prisoner with your perfectly acceptable, partner-satisfying, "nice-surprise, but not I'm-in-over-my-head-big" flesh sabers!

Let this be a warning to you, kingshipnry@greatcirclecapital.com, and all your scheming brethren, we and our "it's perfect, my last boyfriend was WAY too big, and I didn't want to have sex with him" penes are gunning for you!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

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