So walking around with this thing called a dick is next level rad. I don’t have to wipe it after I pee, and sometimes I even sign my name real fancy in the snow. Shit, I waddle it around and creak like I’m Flipper.

Could you hang a towel on that dusty meat slit? Nope. You can’t even buttress a pebble. We can, and that makes many things into hats. What haven’t I draped over it?

Oh, dear Lord, thank you for this lust-laden gladius of flesh. May my actions have no consequences, amen.