The Penis Enlargement Blues

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve received a lot of emails over the course of my life telling me I need to increase the size of my penis. Usually I mark them as spam, and then sit and admire my yogurt slinger. Every once in a while there comes a message that speaks directly to me, and convinces me that I need to increase the size of Stretchy and the Twins. My third arm of justice.

That is to say my Candy cane, Captain Winky, Cattle prod, Cack, Cervix crusader, Cheese staff, Cherry picker, Chick sticker, Chicksicle, Chief of staff, Chorizo, Chowder dumper, Chubby, Clam digger, Clit tickler, Cock-a-saurus Rex, Colon cowboy, Coral branch, Corndog, Crack slapper, Cramstick, Crank shaft, Cream-filled meatsicle, Creamsicle, Crimson Darth Vader, Crotch cobra, Custard cannon, Cycloptic milk spitter, Dangling participle, Diamond cutter, Dickimus Maximus, Dickory dock, dilly-ho-ho, Ding-a-ling, Ding-dong, Dingaroo, Dingle dangle, Dingus, Dinky, Dipstick, Divining rod, Dong-bong, Doodle dandy, Doppelganger, Doughnut holder, Dribbling dragon, Dr. Cyclops, Elephant trunk, Elmers glue shooter, Everlasting gob-dropper, Excreting eel, Executive staff member…

You get the picture. Without further ado, the message that is sure to launch a thousand damaged penis lawsuits:

The occupants come out from the other boxes into virgin’s
feet were poised on clouds, and beneath the thirsty animals,
when released, would rush know my nerves can’t stand much
of a shock. I he was in the firmament, and with the other
he.