It’s about time: The 19 Inch Tale

I think it’s time I write another blog post. Actually I don’t think it’s time. Somebody else thinks it’s time. A loyal reader sent me an email and said “I think it’s time you write another blog post.” So really it was that guy who thought I should write another blog post. Not me. I wasn’t ready, but you forced me to write. Well, there wasn’t gun to my head or anything.

I mean, an email isn’t exactly the scariest thing in the world. Unless it has a virus in it. And even then, that’s more of an annoyance than an actual threat. I’m not gonna get a knife in my throat from a computer virus. Am I? I hope not. That would be pretty sucky. Open an email and BAM… knife in the throat. If I survive this savage e-assault I’ll know never to open emails from in the future. Unless, of course, they’re advertising some service I really want or need like how to get a nineteen inch penis, or how to please my woman in the bedroom. I’m sure she’d appreciate both of those efforts.

Knew I Shouldn't Have Fucked that DVD Burner...

Actually a nineteen inch penis would get in the way of things more than it would help, I think. If you have an erection that could poke a child’s eye out when there aren’t even children in the room, that’s probably not a good thing. You certainly could never get a job as a kindergarten teacher if there were rumours out there about you poking some kid’s eye out with your massive wang. “Hey did you hear about that new teacher, Mr. Megadong? He once blinded some toddler with his enormous lumbering man-piece.” That’s what they’d say about it. I think it’s best if we just stay with the acceptable human-sized ding-a-lings we have now.

Anyway, so I’m going to write something for my devoted fan(s). I could tell you about a cat I saw on the net once who was really funny and fell off lots of difference surfaces, or I could go into further intellectual discussion about the discredits of having a nineteen inch penis. You decide. Okay, you all voted for the cat thing, but I think the nineteen inch penis is a more important issue that needs to be addressed.

What would the world be like if George W. Bush had a nineteen inch penis? I think it would be a better place. I think instead of being all like “Duh, I’m like da Prezidint and I iz going to bomb peepill,” he would’ve been sitting around the oval office, going “Hey everybody, look at my giant cock!” Am I saying that the entire state of the world today is a side-effect of George W. Bush having a tiny penis? Yes. Yes I am. That’s exactly what I’m saying.

Big Thumbs Up for my Massive Dingdong!

If you had a nineteen inch manhood, would your balls be bigger than normal as well? If they weren’t, they would look absolutely, hysterically miniscule in stature next to your freakish tree trunk of fuck-doom. Think about how ridiculous your scrotum would look. I’m talking about total dwarfing of the nuts. Do you think testicular disproportion is funny? Actually it is. Any woman who gets into bed with you will firstly drop her jaw in awe and arousal at your outrageously oversized anteater, but then laugh herself silly at your teeny weeny man-marbles. Oh what a good time she’ll have. But not your balls. They won’t like it one bit. You don’t want to do that to your balls, do you?

Some people don’t have balls. Some people only have one. I have several. How many balls do you have? My favourite type of balls are footballs. I like football. The football world cup is very exciting for me and there are millions and millions of people around the world who share that point of view. I guess that’s one of the beautiful things about the football world cup. It brings people together from all over the globe to celebrate the sport and to share the same goal: Victory! Glorious Victory! Victory that tastes like a blueberry cheesecake with a gingernut biscuit base. Ooh that’s some delicious victory you’ve got right there. Mmm smack your lips, loyal readers.

I think we’d all like a big mouthful of victory right about now. Mouthful of victory… I don’t know why but, for some reason, that sounds filthy. Mouthful of victory. Mouthful of victory. I’m just gonna keep saying it. Mouthful of victory. I’m actually saying it out loud right now, too. People are staring. I shouldn’t write these things on my laptop in my local café. The barista is giving me a look, almost as if she’s saying “If you yell Mouthful of victory one more time, you’re banned from here, Brad.” I’m a little bit concerned… how did she know my name? I never told it to her. I think maybe there’s another person I need to add to my stalker list.

Anyway, this has gone on long enough, especially since I haven’t really said anything of any value. I would apologise for wasting your time but, let’s face it, if you’re reading blogs, your time wasn’t that valuable to begin with.


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