fillet-of-who?

Ok so on June 12^th of the current year of 2008, I contracted a boner. It was in the middle of a very long, very boring class and I pretty much had no choice but to put my frustration into words. The following is the transcripted translation of my inner monologue. Keep in mind that I put no thought into organization or grammar because I think that would destroy the point. Anyway thank you for reading and let me apologize in advance. (ahem)

I’ve got a boner. I’m sitting here in Art History class and I’ve got a flippin’ hard-on. I don’t understand how this can happen when a 70 year old man stands in front of me and lectures about Michelangelo and here I am longing for something soft to have intercourse with. My, the professor’s pointer sure is phallic. Not much for girth though. Whoo boy, he just used the word “writhing”. That’s exactly what my penis is all about right now. In fact we have bypassed the “half mast” stage and skipped directly to “critical mass”. Hmmm, maybe if I just discretely push on it a little… Shit, I only made it angry. He wants out, wants to be free like a gazelle, wants to migrate like a Canadian goose… That is the last time I’ll compare my peen to a Canadian anything. My genitals seem to subscribe to a classical school of thought which holds the human form to be of the utmost importance. He decidedly strays from the Hebraic notion which places emphasis on inward value… Here is what I learned today: Art and Boners were never meant to be compared nor contrasted.

It’s quite warm in here… dark too. It’s like a greenhouse for growing cock. I hate my penis and he clearly has a strong distaste for me as well. He is a child; a child who has no concept of timeliness, situation, or social protocol. Stupid penis. Our relationship is an uncomfortable one. He and I are a bit like two college roommates thrown into the same living quarters by cruel fate. We have nothing in common, nothing to talk about, and a basic dislike of one another. Sure in passing we’ll engage in some forced pleasantries. Something like…

Will: “You gonna be around this weekend?”

Dick: “Yeah I think so, but I’m not sure”

Will: “Nice”

But that’s pretty much the extent of the discourse. It’s strange. My johnson and I both had the same upbringing, but we each turned out so very different. Ever see the Good Son? Here’s a hint: Despite the would-be innuendo, I’m Elija Wood. My penis is my dark side, my evil twin… my dopplegangbang if you will… or if you won’t… it’s really not up to you… ass. I’m Mario. He’s Wario. I’m Link. He’s Dick Dark Link. I’m Darkwing. He’s Negadick Negaduck. My flesh log is the living incarnation of my id. I hate him so much. I can feel him looking at me through the shroud of crotch denim. He’s… oh… well would you look at that… he’s subsided. I win for now, but the victory is bittersweet and hollow as I know that he will rise again to fight another day. Until then.