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      Dear Kelly McClure, My Name Is Penis, I'm Not New Here

      January 24, 2013

      So yesterday I (Kelly McClure) wrote a thing about how guys piss on restroom floors because they don't know how to work their dicks and it made a lot of people upset in some way or another. One random guy wrote me a five paragraph email about it, and then our own beloved Ben Johnson wrote a response to it, from the perspective of an actual penis. Here is that response. 

      Kelly. I see you are troubled by what happened because of me. I understand you are a lesbian and you don’t have a lot of experience with me, and the things I do confuse you. Please allow me to explain myself.

      You see, a man knows right from wrong, OK? And a man can feel hurt, alright? A man is a thinking creature. A man can solve problems. A man can do good. A man can sit down and make a plan, and a man can know his own feelings, and a man can live the way a person is supposed to, with love and honor and dignity. Not every man does all this, but a man can. Any man can. Do you understand?

      A man is a real person. Any man.

      Why are people people? I don’t know. OK? I’m just a penis. I don’t know these things.

      But I do know that a man can do right. A man can understand how to do right. A man can know what that means, the sacrifices involved. A man can be disappointed in himself and strive for improvement. A man can be kind, and giving, tolerant, and a good listener. Not always, but as often as any person, you understand? A man can help himself and others. A man can be a man.

      But a dick? Me? A penis?

      Dick don’t give a FUUUUUUUUUUCK, Kelly. Dick don’t give a fuck.

      That’s what you need to understand, Kelly. Dick don’t give a fuck.

      Now a dick can listen to a man. Dick don’t want to, but dick don’t have a choice, because a dick is a part of a man. Like a brain is a part of a man. A dick and a brain are two different parts of a man, Kelly. That’s why they call them by different words. If I was a brain, they’d call me a brain. They don’t. I’m not a brain. I’m a dick. I do what I want. I don’t give a fuck.

      How much don’t I give a fuck? Let’s say I’m attached to a thirteen year old boy, and that thirteen year old boy is in history class in school, and that history class is discussing the Holocaust. Let’s say there’s a film strip the history class is watching, OK? And let’s say in that film strip about the Holocaust there’s a naked emaciated lady corpse with visible boobs. Would it bother you if I got rock fucking hard about that, Kelly McClure? Let me tell you this: it would probably bother the thirteen year old boy I’m attached to at the time, a lot, so it stands to reason it would bother you too. Well guess what. I don’t give a fuck. I’m on a thirteen year old boy, and that thirteen year old boy sees a naked emaciated Holocaust film strip boob, I’m getting rock fucking hard. That’s how I roll. Sorry, world. Nothing you can do. Even a doctor will tell you that it’s natural. I. DO. NOT. GIVE. A FUCK.

      And this is the crazy part, Kelly. Sometimes a man listens to me, okay? We have a dialogue and sometimes I win. Does that scare you? Maybe it should. I mean, hey, I’m not a monster. I’m not the same thing as violence, you understand? You ever see anybody in the hospital because they got beaten up by a dick? No. The man did that. Maybe I told them to, maybe I didn’t. I can’t help the man I’m attached to. If he’s a sick fuck. That’s not my fault, that’s the man and the way the man got made, okay? I’m just a penis. I ain’t got time to give a fuck.

      So look, Kelly. I’m sorry you got some pee pee on the floor where you work, alright? I mean, I’m not sorry, because you know, fuck it, what the fuck difference could it make to me if you’re just gonna be a lesbian anyway, but I’m sure some of the men attached to me feel a little sorry about the pee pee on your bathroom floor. In fact: you should be mad at them instead of me. They can clean that shit up. Wipe it up, you know. That’s what you’re mad at. The man that didn’t clean up after me.

      And also you don’t know me or how I roll. I mean, I sprayed that pee pee there because sometimes I get a little cum or pre-cum on my tip and it dries up, or maybe I get a little underwear lint stuck in my hole, and the man I’m attached to needs to pee and then I spray pee pee everywhere at crazy angles. I don’t give a fuck, but that’s something I do sometimes just because. You’d know if you had one of me.

      Anyhow, that’s my story. I don’t give a fuck. You want giving a fuck, get mad at a man for listening to what I have to say. It’s not my fault they see me pee everywhere and not give a fuck about it and then go “oh well, Dick don’t give a fuck, I guess I don’t give a fuck neither.” That’s not on me. That’s on them.

      And if you ever want, you can tell me all about pussy and I’d be very interested in that. I have a theory maybe you can confirm for me: pussy give a fuck about EVERYTHING.


      Oh shit. I be sweaty. Help me out down here. I be sweaty. HELP ME OUT DOWN HERE. NOW. DO IT NOW.



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