Folks, I was just doing something tonight. I can’t tell you what, exactly — you’ll just have to use your imagination.
(Or better yet, don’t use your imagination, and just let the story wash over you. Which means that you’d especially better not use your imaginateion, because the combination of what you’re probably about to be thinking, and the ‘wash over you’ comment… not good. We’ll all lose some sleep over that one, if we’re not careful.)
Anyway, I was just doing something. And the last time I did this unspecified, completely innocent thing, I came out of it with six. Or ‘six’, if you prefer, but I’m pretty sure those quotes are going to lead to the imagining thing, and it’s all downhill from there. But, if we must, I did this thing a while back, and got ‘six’ out of it.
So, tonight? I did it again. And what did I get — six? Or even ‘six’? No. Not quite. No, this time, much to my wide-eyed delight, I got ten. Not ten, or even ‘ten’ — which would be lurid enough, mind you — but ten. I went from ‘six’ to ten. Maybe even TEN, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Let the smoke and confetti clear, and we’ll determine exactly what’s what later on, with a clearer perspective.
And really, all I can tell you is… it’s got nothing to do with my penis. Really. I know that if it did, I’d have some miracle story to tell about a wonder cream, or amazing exercises, or the importance of living right, eating healthy, and stretching daily — or maybe that’s ‘stretching’ daily — but honestly, this is so not about my penis. Promise.
(On the other hand… in the thing that it is about? I just went from ‘six’ to ten. It’s not about my penis, per se, but yeah — the room’s feeling a little woodier right now, if you smell what I’m cooking. I’m all jazz hands and hard-on right now.)
So, unfortunately, that’s all I can tell you right now. I can’t share any details, but I did want you to feel my excitement. In an entirely non-creepy, penis-free, leg-humping-less kind of way, of course. Let’s keep this tasteful — or as tasteful as we can, after seven paragraphs of penis enlargement euphemisms, anyway.
(And I repeat — it’s so not about my penis. I can’t possibly stress this enough. I may have to hire a skywriter, in fact, just to be certain. My penis? Not the thing. Scout’s honor.)
Anyway, there you go. Last time: ‘six’. This time: ten. Sure, you know nothing else about what’s going on, but still, just aak yourself — if it happened to you, how happy would you be right now, eh? I think we should all take a deep breath and smoke an afterglow cigarette, just to commemorate the occasion. I’m talkin’ ten, people. That ain’t chopped liver, no matter what you’re talking about. Booyah.Permalink | 9 Comments