A Semi-Softcore Venture Through Penile Mishaps and Opinion

On Thursday in Pre-Algebra my “friend compass” pointed toward the heavens. My local priest says this means that Christ, the closest friend I have, is being signaled much like an airplane from an observation tower. Pamela Grunko, the girl in class with more freckles than skin cells, noticed that my “purple helmeted love warrior” was fully visible during “solve and talk” at the end of class. Rather than doing what an upstanding peer would do, she decided to scream, “Harpo’s pitching a tent!” In a state of utter shock, I found myself surrounded by my class, the teacher clamoring for order. My peers chanted vigorously, “Wee-wee, peepee, ay ay, it’s too early for Penis Inspection Day.” Through tear-stained eyes, I sobbed, falling to the floor, having lost my will to respond to their cries.

After days of self-care, I regained the will to live, and now I write this article to tell those that bullied me that having an erection is in accordance with ancient customs. In my research I’ve discovered that erections are an okay thing to have. Elvis, the King of Blues, said so during his lifetime. Since then, I’ve made it my mission to justify the existence of my unintentional “special appendage buddies.” As Mr. Stanko from English class might say, “there’s nothing so bold as to be yourself,” and I have taken this opinion to heart. From my recent excursions to the urine trough that the boys call “the 3rd floor restroom,” I’ve examined each of my peers’ willies, and have offered my running commentary during my free period. Of course, my reviews were often met with surprise, disgust, and intrigue, but I have fought through the many beatings in full stride. I can say for certain now that the relative length and girth of my classmates has been carefully catalogued in an Excel spreadsheet, myself being among the few of my classmates to have displayed mine through my trousers.

To display one’s swole hog is a demonstration of one’s manhood, and his relative ability to create crying, fulfilling spawn. I’m sorry that I’m among the few to have done such, albeit accidentally, but I have made an oath to display myself! If I so happen to find myself standing before my classmates presenting a slideshow, and some innocuous image of a man plowing a field happens to stir my stiffy, who am I to stop it?

My penis is a reflection of some primal ability to mate, and I won’t stop for one second to hide my “pocket snake,” as every “fuddy chuddy” is yet another reflection of my strength as a man.

Penile-hiders beware, as I am the conqueror of small men. Fear not your ability to “pop a rod,” as my dearest “Swellington” often does. You are among the highest of men and shall be rewarded in amicable terms. Be free!!!!