[Ed. – Presented without comment. Except…why are lefties so verbose? This is just a small excerpt from a very long post.]
I now officially hate my penis. I’m sick of my dick. It is no longer a magical joystick. It’s more like that banana you lost months ago and just discovered behind the toaster. It’s dark, mushy and of no use to anyone. It’s prey to disease, infection, dysfunction. In other words, the middle-aged schlong works about well as our current Congress.
“There’s no doubt it’s a complicated piece of equipment,” my urologist told me after a recent scare I had with my former BFF. “From your teens to your middle 30s, it’s usually trouble-free. But if you make it to 40, things can get bumpy. Your penis is vulnerable to a host of malfunctions that make you miserable. After years of treating them, I’ve decided that men’s dicks might be an accident of evolution. They’re too complicated and full of design flaws. You can get cancer of the testicles, prostatitis, balanitis, Peyronie’s disease, Phimosis, Paraphimosis. And that’s just for starters.”
I couldn’t help but sadly shake my head. That simple, enjoyable organ between my thighs, which was once as beautifully-functioning as a German automobile, was now more akin to a goddamned DeLorean. Sure, my dick was comely and could go a lap or two around the track. But after too much use, it proved to have serious transmission problems and (as in an automobile article I read) had “a random tendency for the shaft nuts to unscrew themselves…dumping gear oil all over the road.” Okay, that’s metaphorical. But not by much.