Please stop kicking him in the privates.

Growing up a late-blooming runt, a fellow hobbit let me in on how to win a fight with a giant: “Poke him in the eye, or kick him in the balls, and run.” Seems like a decent strategy, until you realize you can only run so far, for so long. Eventually, you will encounter a very angry giant, who is likely to do more than delivering a wedgie.

This carries into adult life, as I hear jilted women use a similar strategy–verbally. First, call him names, then kick him in the pee-pee.

“The douchebag had the nerve to hang all over this whore with big, fake tits right in front of me.”

“You poor thing. You broke up with him, right?”

“Of course. And, you know what?”

“What?” he said, fully expecting the arrival of a ball-shot.

“He has a tiny, flaccid penis.”

“Oh, my.”

“Seriously. He could barely get it hard and, when he did, he lasted like one minute.”

“Well, that could be a tribute to you … the second part.”

“No, he has issues. God, I dreaded having sex with him. He was awful.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t. His dick was like pinky-sized, and limp as an overcooked noodle. You know? You’d think he’d learn how to eat pussy or something to make up for it. Nope. He eats pussy like a bird. Piss me off. Well, I hope Miss Big-Titty-Barbie is happy with old thimble cock.”

“So, she kind of did you a favor, I suppose.”

“She sure did. What an asshole. I can’t believe I dated him. There’s definitely a fucking ED epidemic. He’s not the first one to have that problem. Christ.”

“Really? I can’t imagine.” – Yes, I can.

“Guys supposedly always think about and always want sex. You’d think they’d learn how to get their damn dicks hard.”

“Isn’t that partially your responsibility?”

“Do you masturbate?”

“Fine. Unpause rant.”

“If you had a problem getting your dick hard, wouldn’t you go get drugs?”

“Um …”

“I mean if all you can think about is squeezing big, fake titties while having sex with some young bimbo, doesn’t that suggest that you’ll need a hard penis?”

“Right, but I …”

“So, be a man, see a doctor, or send twenty dollars to a Canadian pharmacy for fuck’s sake. Literally. For fuck’s sake!”

“But, I … has someone told you I can’t get it up?”

“Oh, shut up. I’m not talking about you. I have no idea if your dick works or not. I’m just saying his dick sucked, and I’ve been with other men who couldn’t stuff a flour taco shell.”

“Thank God for that–the ‘my penis’ part. Heck, mine is like a fucking re-bar spike when I get wound up. I could re-bore eighteen holes at Augusta, and still have enough turgidity to bruise your internal organs.”

“Calm down there, Spike.”

“Sorry.”

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.

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