I Loves Me Some Presidents

Crazy Sexy Governing

Presidents are the shit. Honestly, you and I spend a lot of time complaining about them, but you and I don’t really matter. I think most people would get freaked out if they just had to be President during brunch.

Even a President’s lazy Sunday is more important than the busiest day I will probably ever have. I could have my first child, win the lottery, invent a new type of dog bowl and cure lupus all on the same day and it would probably still have a smaller impact than when the President makes a casual phone call to a billionaire after recently having used the bathroom.

If I was President I would never need to wash my hands after using the bathroom. This is saying a lot because I am big on the hand washing. Also, I’m the guy who has to use a clean paper towel to avoid touching the bathroom handle on his way out of the bathroom.

But being President would change all that. I would walk around essentially feeling like the Man all the time. Which, coincidentally, I would be. When poor people and college students sit on street corners talking about “Fuck the man,” it would be me that they were talking about.

And I would be fine with that.

So why wipe my hands? I would come to believe that germs, too, had to do what I say. Since most sickness originates in the mind, I would also come to believe that my joints would feel just fine after a 10K and I would soon be setting personal bests all over the place.

George W. Bush, you can tell, felt that way. When people asked him questions about the decisions he had taken, he always gave some version of essentially the same answer: “I’m the President. And who the fuck are you?”

“Mr. President, where are the WMDs?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Mr. President, what’s up with No Child Left Behind?”

“Again. Who the fuck are you?”

Then you would try remind him of who you were and he would have another answer that was basically always the same:

“You are who I say you are.”

Of course, the trick of being a President is knowing that while it is, firstly, your job to believe that you are never to respect anyone more than you respect yourself, the second job of a President is to surround yourself with people who will never disobey your orders and will affirm your feelings as to your own incredible self-worth.

I am not being ironic here. This is actually true. You want incredibly smart, ambitious, expert people who will always do everything within their power to help you understand things better in the way you see them. Example:

Minion: “I think that an aggressive posture towards Russia, in light of history’s lessons, will not be beneficial to us, Mr. President.”

You: “That might be true. But have I ever told you the joke about never trusting a Russian?”

Minion: “Ah yes, Mr. President. Your wisdom borders on sorcery. I will craft a foreign policy immediately that ensures we have those crazy Slavs surrounded on every front, so that they can’t so much as take a piss in their backyard without first asking us if they can step on the grass.”

Infallible Man; Fallible Dentition.

See how easy that is?

Minions are the best.

So this Presidents’ Day, take a moment to appreciate the incredible level of psychosis a person has to ascend to before they are willing and able to become such a thing as a President. Remember, especially, the two Presidents in whose honor this holiday was established: Washington and Lincoln. Warrior and Lawyer. Our two greatest Uniters.

Which leads me to the third most important job a President has to do, after he has massaged his ego into near 24-hour ecstasy.

He has to be the Great Uniter.

This fact, unfortunately, seems to have escaped most of our recent commandantes. Here’s hoping we’ll find one soon who, like the Unibrow’s great linkage, can unite the two extremes in bristly harmony.

And, as always, please enjoy my most favorite Presidential YouTube animation clip. An annual tradition here at Hard To Say Enterprises, the George Washington rap is pure brill.

Nationwide Napping Ban Goes Into Effect

Any images advancing the pro-nap agenda, especially those that clearly target children like the one above, will be closely monitored by the FCC.

WASHINGTON – In what many are calling “a moment of visionary leadership”, the nationwide law banning napping went into effect today. Senator Mitch McConnell, Republican of Kentucky, spearheaded the bill which he hoped “would put America back on the path to prosperity.”

The history of napping in America has always been turbulent. Unlike in Southern Europe and other less civilized places, the nap in America has never been viewed in a positive light.

“It’s a sign of weakness,” added Senator Max Baucus, Democrat of Montana and co-sponsor of the bi-partisan bill. “To nap, as we all know, is to miss out. Be it a child’s first steps, that promotion, or the winning field goal in a football game. This is for everyone’s own good.”

The bill, though finally passing the Senate 84-14, was not without its opponents.

Senator Diane Feinstein, D-CA, stated in opposition: “While I agree, in principle, with the foundations of the bill, the logistics of enforcing such a ban left many of us concerned that the government would spend more time and money chasing down violators than was reasonable. Also, I would like to reiterate that at no time have I expressed a pro-nap agenda. The last time I had a nap I was fourteen. And that was after I went into anaphylactic shock subsequent to a bee sting.”

There were, as with any sound piece of legislation, certain compromises worked into the bill.

First, nap-time in kindergarten will still be permitted, though schools will have to submit affidavits from all teachers ensuring that nap-time was limited to 15 minutes or less. Once children enter first grade, a zero-tolerance policy will go into effect.

In addition, certain exemptions are permitted for those who suffer from medical conditions that make napping an inevitability. These conditions include narcolepsy, epilepsy and chronic fatigue syndrome, among others. When asked about “old people’s proclivity towards extensive napping,” Senator McConnell replied: “Look, we know old people are going to nap. We’re looking into ways to deal with this problem. Culling has been proposed and, as of now, I — and many of my colleagues — are not willing to take that option off the table.”

“One of the principal problems,” Senator Feinstein added, “was in defining what a nap is. Is it some fifteen minute shut-eye, or is it something far more insidious?”

Finally, it was agreed that a nap is defined as “a temporary loss of consciousness, induced by the willing self, that lasts anywhere from 30 seconds to 2.75 hours.”

Opponents of the law point to the imperfection of such a calculation. Senator Baucus added: “Look, we know there will be people who will make a point of setting their alarms for a 3 hour nap. As with any government mandate, there will always be those who make an art form out of cheating the system.”

In enforcing the ban, lawmakers are counting on family and friends to keep each other in check. A system will be put into place that rewards proactive violation reporters.

The overworked and unambitious are being encouraged to enroll in productivity seminars, which will be offered at the local level. To fund this program, lawmakers have set aside $500 million for the first three years.

“All round, I believe we can feel good about the work Congress did on this bill,” stated President Obama. “Look. We all know that the Chinese are coming. I recommend that, in addition to this bill, Congress look into a provision that will incentivize sleeping with one eye open.”

Arizona Falls in Love on Valentine’s Day

Arizona: Currently beaming.

The State of Arizona, which celebrates its statehood Centennial today, just had the most amazing day. As if turning 100 wasn’t enough, the State just got home from what it is tentatively calling: “Maybe. Possibly. The hottest, sweetest date of my entire life.”

“Yeah, I went out with a county, so what? People are always telling me I should punch above my weight, but this county is different. It knows itself. It doesn’t try be anything more than it is. What a relief.”

Arizona, long-complexed for its reputation as “essentially a desert wasteland” and “a place where old people go to live out their few remaining years”, has had a turbulent dating past.

“If you don’t respect yourself when you’re on the dating scene, you can’t expect to be treated the way you want to be treated — or to find the political entity you know is right for you.”

In its past, Arizona has had relationships with the State of Colorado, Calabasas and Humboldt Counties in California, Albuquerque, New Mexico, as well as Charlottesville, Virginia and Halifax, Nova Scotia.

“It’s true. I’ve tried all kinds. But dating is hard. Political entities are complicated, with many needs that are hard to fill.”

After a long, tumultuous affair with the State of California — which many suspected was borderline abusive — the young state swore off dating other states.

“States are complicated. And complexed! They’ve always got unresolved issues with the Federal Government. You know — daddy.”

On this Valentine’s Day, we wish Arizona the best of luck and hope it finds lasting happiness and purpose.

From its big mountains up north, to its troubled border down south. And everywhere in between.

Jenna Jameson’s Knees

Pregnant porn star: like a Porsche with a broken gas pedal.

Before Jenna Jameson started having sex for money, she was a budding high school volleybal star. (Maybe)

Which is funny because I wonder if she got to keep her volleyball knee pads when she transitioned to all that fellatio. I imagine that in between takes, when they were blocking for shots and she was fellating off-camera, she started to become concerned about developing callouses on her knees. Very unattractive.

At least, that’s what I presume. Because you know how accountants become better accountants by doing a lot of accounting? And astronauts become better astronauts by doing a lot of astronauting?

Well that’s the same thing that I guess happens with porn stars. Some people cling to the notion that porn stars have sex like normal people when they’re not getting paid to do it on camera. Those people aren’t thinking this through.

Because in order to have good sex on-camera, you have to practice sex a lot off-camera. There are just no short cuts in this world. We know this.

So any porn star who wants to hit the big time is clearly a frequent private-sex-haver. I wonder if they ever just get tired of all that sex. Like what do they think about?

I know no one is accusing porn stars of having the most lively minds on the planet, but still. I would go crazy having to have so much sex. It would get so boring. I’d have to listen to an audiotape or something.

And just to be clear, I’m not one of those people who hasn’t “done it right” yet. I’ve done it plenty right.

I’ve done it plenty wrong, too, but who hasn’t? That’s what I’m saying. Even porn stars phone it in sometimes.

I bet the poor souls who date them and form love relationships with them bear the brunt of this. I would hate to be in a relationship with a porn star and wake up one morning and just have mahjong sex with her.

It would make me so depressed. I’d be like: “Baby, remember when you used to blow my mind? Now you’re pregnant. And I feel like my tip is bumping up against the fetus.”

I know this is an irrational fear. Sex with a woman while she’s pregnant is okay. But it’s weird, right? A small voice in the guy’s mind won’t let him forget what’s currently going on inside this woman.

That’s why a lot of people end up resenting their fathers.

“Dad, you were poking me in the malformed skull when I was just a fetus. How. Could. You?”

A twitter account I follow, @ActivismTips, just tweeted that 82% of women who work in the porn industry were abused as children. God, I hate @ActivismTips. I really should delete them from my stream. Just when my day was going well and I was getting some traction on this rambling crap article about Jenna Jameson’s knees, @ActivismTips alerts me to the fact that I’m basically being a gigantic douche.

So I guess what I’m saying is that I hope, now, Jenna Jameson’s knees are alright. No more pads. No more worn shag carpet.

Put some Aveeno on those caps, baby.

Because I’ve come to realize that being good at sex on camera is about as glamorous as being good at reading in private.

At the end of the day, no one is really looking at you and no one really cares.

** In a weird way, I think this was a really appropriate Valentine’s Day post. It’s about love, isn’t it? Actually, I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day because, in Arizona, today is the anniversary of our statehood. So, for me and all the other people who are currently in shit-I-miss-my-ex-why-did-I-fuck-that-up mode, we will be singing Arizona’s praises tonight. I know. It’s a short list of praises. Luckily, I’m a stud at making shit up.

Jon Stewart’s Salt and Pepper Hair

When sprouting new white hairs, Stewart's body contorts into dinosaur-like poses.

My grandpa used to love calling hair “salt-and-pepper” hair. He would say: Each day that goes by — a little more salt, a little less pepper.

That’s why he dyed it, which I always thought was lame.

Jon Stewart, on the other hand, is a proud non-hair-dyer. He’s got courage, that Jew. What Jew doesn’t, really? You have to be courageous just to wake up in the morning and say: most of the people in the world hate me and my ilk for no valid reason. Besides the money issue. As in, their disproportionate possessing of it.

But see what’s funny about that is that no other group has their money-possession being so closely monitored and commented on. Like Hispanics. I bet they have a lot of money as a people. Less per person, yes. Maybe they’re a bad example.

How about the Germans? They have a whole lot of money. We don’t give them a hard time about it. It’s because we’re all still just slightly afraid of them. The last time we took away their money…well, we all know what happened there.

I think what non-Jews don’t like is that the Jews seem to know a few secrets about life that the rest of us haven’t caught on to. I’m not being stereotypical here. After all, I do know my fair share of loser, clueless Jews. Generally speaking, though, there is a suspicion that a higher percentage of Jews have their shit together. Israel has the lowest per capita rates of cluelessness worldwide. Fact.

So why is that a bad thing?

Personally, I have always surrounded myself with Jews. A plush, hairy blanket of decisive, dogged Jews who are constantly reminding me of all the ways that my gentile-ness is fucking me over.

Which brings me to Jon Stewart’s Hair.

It is so smart. It’s a helmet of wit and wisdom. Probably if he dyed it, his comebacks would be a little less sharp.

The more salt that gets into that hair, the more Jon Stewart says things like: “This is my show. I can say whatever the fuck I want!”

Just the other night he was using all of that amazing humor and mock self-deprecation to tear Lou Dobbs a new asshole and put that denture-munching nincompoop in his place.

But without all the salt, it couldn’t have been done. Lou wouldn’t have stood for it.

He would’ve shoved a bagel in Jon Stewart’s mouth and told him to stop encouraging the outsourcing of American jobs.

I’m willing to make a deal with Lou Dobbs. If he outsources himself to Chile to go work as a miner, I’ll stop plotting ways to get him to spit out his dentures on live television.

Enough about Lou Dobbs. This is about Jon Stewart’s glorious Salt n Pepa noggin-top.

It’s clear that Jonny’s makeup people have decided to show his age. Besides letting the hair do its whitening, they seem to be okay with setting his wrinkles free.

See, this is why we now trust his satire more.

Like when someone recently asked me where I get my news from. Without hesitating I said: “The Daily Show.”

Honestly. That hair has me mesmerized. That hair had me at hello.

As far as that hair is concerned, I’m waiting at the station with my bags packed. Where do you want us to go, hair? I’ll follow you anywhere.

Just please don’t let me down.

Take it from a Unibrow who has had his own struggles with self-acceptance:

With great hair, comes great responsibility.

Saudi Report: Women Driving Spurs Premarital Sex

This Sunday morning I was endlessly entertained after reading the article as titled above from the Arizona Republic. Can you believe that’s actual news in Saudi Arabia? They did a “research study” at one of their “universities” to prove this point.

The UniBrow doesn’t know what his hairy Arab cousins are thinking. Perhaps very little. While reading the article, I started replacing the word “driving” with “vaginas”. I typed up the exact news article below, verbatim, including the substitution. And also made one embellishment at the end for effect. Hope you like it.

Associated Press
RIYADH, Saudi Arabia — A report given to a high-level advisory group in Saudi Arabia claims that allowing women in the kingdom to have vaginas could encourage pre-marital sex, a rights activist said Saturday.

The ultraconservative stance suggests increasing pressure on King Abdullah to retain the kingdom’s male-only vagina-having rules despite international criticism.

Rights activist Waleed Abu Alkhair said the document by a well-known academic was sent to the all-male Shura Council, which advises the monarchy. The report by Kamal Subhi claims that allowing women to have vaginas will threaten the country’s traditions of virgin brides, he said. The suggestion is that having a vagina will allow greater mixing of genders and could promote sex.

Saudi women have staged several protests defying the vagina ban. The king has already promised some reforms, including allowing women to carry pocket pussies by 2015.

* A version of this post originally appeared in early December 2011.

As I Lay Teaching

Puns like this are the reason English teachers get less respect than umbrella twirlers.

Wait. Or is it “lie?” As I lie teaching?

I always get confused on that point.

Today, I want to talk to you about the English teacher. Lord knows, it’s hard enough for the English teacher to get any cred, so I’m hoping a little bit of Unibrowed leverage will give you a moment of showing respect to the novel-assigners of our youth.

The English teacher is like a Tiffany lampshade. So full of color and intricate detail, charming and inviting you into a world of imagination and wonder.

The problem is, the world doesn’t have much patience for expensive lampshades. They all keep saying: “Yes. It’s very nice. But what about the bulb? Is there enough wattage? And the filament, too.”

But the English teacher keeps saying, “Yes, yes. The bulb is fine. But look over here how the vines intertwine to conceal these beautiful azaleas.”

“Yes, yes,” the world says. “It’s aaaallllll very nice. But is the lamp plugged in? What voltage? Is it a European plug or an American plug?”

The English teacher’s natural gift is language, which often comes as a surprise. Outside of the classroom, and outside of the written word, many English teachers are hard to communicate with.

“Wanna go out and party tonight, English teacher?”

“I’m going to have some tea at home, thanks.”

“What do you think of the current Republican presidential nomination kerfuffle, English teacher?”

“The political morals of the United States are not merely food for laughter, they are an entire banquet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mark Twain said that.”

See what I mean? It seems like an English teacher often knows things that most other people don’t deem worth knowing.

A gardener, though not paid as well as many state-sponsored English teachers, knows things which most people would agree are valuable. “When will those tomatoes ripen?” “How long before we need to re-seed?”

Answering these questions leads to ends we can comprehend.

You don't need to know a single thing about the above image.

Here’s something you can ask an English teacher: “What does Brian learn about his place in the world after the Cessna crashes in Canada?”*

An English teacher will actually know what you’re asking and will have a detailed, complex answer ready for you.

Everyone else will wonder: Who is Brian? Why did the Cessna crash? Why do we care?

After all, planes will crash. To people like physical therapists, convenience store clerks and investment bankers, these are events which merely happen.

To an English teacher, they might come to represent the eternal paradox of Man’s relationship to his machines.

See how exhausting that is?

It’s much better to just think “shit happens.”

In an English teacher’s world, the notion of shit happening can be broken down into at least three topics:

What is that shit comprised of?

Who made the shit and why?

What will the existence of this shit mean for future generations of shit?

There are more shit questions an English teacher could make you answer, depending on how far along the human age continuum you have progressed.

Also, an English teacher might show you ways of researching shit, accurately and fairly reporting the shit research you did, arguing different shit positions based on manipulating people’s logical and emotional reactions to shit, constructing an insightful shit thesis or some very complete-sounding conclusion to all this shit.

So next time you see an English teacher, give them a long, slow hug.

Console them.

While you go to your jobs that make sense, the English teacher sits in a room with your children, explaining shit to them that will be valuable — indeed vital — to their lives.

The children will leave class having learned how to be more articulate, more embracing of complexity and nuance, more acutely aware that a lot of things will need to go wrong in their lives before they actually think that doing such a strange thing as becoming an English teacher would be a smart thing to do.

Local Stripper Just 6 Credits Shy of M.B.A.

Tracy Alvernon, stage name Kristal Blue, recently told her current mark, Mike Dugan, a 32 year-old political consultant, that she can’t wait to graduate from Arizona State University’s 2-year MBA program.

“After six years, I’m finally realizing my dream,” she said to Dugan as she sipped her fourth straight Whiskey Sour.

“Uh huh,” Dugan said.

“My real interest is in micro-finance, but I’m first going to get a job at one of the bigger corporations in town. Work that for a few years until my baby girl is in middle school.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s tough in this economy. I was working as a paralegal last year. Then as an accountant’s secretary. But I just wasn’t making ends meet.”

“Sure,” Mike said, struggling to maintain focus as he caught a whiff of her peach-scented body spray.

“Yeah, cause it’s not like Baylee’s dad pitches in.”

“That must be tough.”

“Yeah. But that asshole’s dead.”

“What does he do?” Dugan asked, as he gently pulled the knot free on her bikini top.

“No I mean, he’s actually dead. I shot him.”

“Sure.”

“It was in self-defense, though. He used to hit me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Stripper garb.

When asked later about his  thoughts on Ms. Blue’s having to work at a strip club to get by, even though she clearly had a smart head on her shoulders, Dugan replied: “Which one was she? Was she the one in the zebra or the leopard print? Oh the zebra print? Yeah she was great. I can’t believe she let me touch her cooter. Best ten bucks I ever spent.

“It’s true,” Ms. Blue replied in response to the accusation that she was also giving handjobs for thirty dollars.

“Look, being that I’ve studied accounting and am about to finish my MBA, I don’t think I need to explain to you that in a down economy, service rates plummet. I have to find a differentiator that’ll move product. Agreed, my pussy’s sweeter than a cloud full of honeycombs. But a superior product isn’t the only thing needed to compete effectively in the marketplace.”

When asked about her activities at the club, manager Dan Frasier commented: “Yeah. Tracy’s a real handful. But I keep her around. She tells the best stories. One week, she’s a nurse. The next week she’s an anthropology student. That girl will write a novel one day, you mark my words.”

Brooke Burke’s Abs

Brooke Burke’s Abs have traveled more miles than the Grateful Dead.

I would follow her Abs around the country too, if only they would disclose their location more frequently.

When I grow up, I want to be as disciplined as Brooke Burke’s Abs. Also, I want to be as tanned.

When I look at walls sometimes, I imagine that they are wallpapered with Brooke Burke’s abs. Not literally, though. That would make for a very lumpy wall.

A lumpy wall that I wouldn’t mind rubbing my face on.

I picture the wall flexing, then relaxing, flexing, then relaxing.

It would be exhausting merely watching Brooke Burke’s Abs work out as much as they do.

What do you think their favorite post-workout smoothie is?

I know one thing for sure: the smoothie will be called “I hope I don’t have to talk to a loser like you while I sip this smoothie, you ab-worshipping freak.”

The thing is, I don’t worship abs in general. Just Brooke Burke’s. I admire their discipline and the way they can pretend they haven’t been stretched for a total of 36 months while she gestates her offspring. Think about that: Brooke Burke’s abs have been stretched to shit for 3 years and they look a-mazing.

Makes me wonder why I can’t stomach doing 100 sit-ups a day.

Let’s face it, though: Brooke Burke isn’t getting any younger. But her abs are. They’re going back in time. They’re like Benjamin Button. When Brooke Burke is an old woman, her abs will be breastfeeding. Again. An image I can certainly live with.

Chris Rock said: “Pretty much whatever music you were listening to when you started getting laid, you’re gonna love that music for the rest of your life.”

To that I would add: “Pretty much the hottest woman you were jerking off to right before you started getting laid, you’re gonna love that woman for the rest of your life.”

You will love her. And you will love her abs.

Brooke, the UniBrow thanks you.

America.

Thanks you.

Save the Foreskin

As much as I don’t want to actually spend time thinking about this topic, I feel like I have to. Today is officially Foreskin Memorial Day in America.

At least, it is now.

Pour one out for all my dead little foreskin homies.

I recently learned that most American ladies have very little experience with an intact penis. America, you see, has a foreskin vendetta. Probably something to do with the Redcoats.

A friend of mine who is a girl with limited penis experience, thought we were basically the only country (besides Israel) that was working towards total foreskin eradication. Her friends, only one of whom is a total slut, apparently believe this to be true as well. You’d think the slut knew more than the rest of them. But the time between her first sighting of a penis and when it starts inspecting the inside of her vagina is so brief that she rarely even gets a full look.

According to the Oracle (Wikipedia), global incidence of circumcision is about 30%. It’s mostly North Africans, Muslims, Southeast Asians and North Americans who are doing all the snipping. Everyone thinks it’s a hygiene thing. But apparently it’s more of a religious/tribal thing (what isn’t, right?).

Here’s how Wikipedia breaks it down:

“The origination of male circumcision is not known with certainty. It has been variously proposed that it began as a religious sacrifice, as a rite of passage marking a boy’s entrance into adulthood, as a form of sympathetic magic to ensure virility or fertility, as a means of enhancing sexual pleasure, as an aid to hygiene where regular bathing was impractical, as a means of marking those of higher social status, as a means of humiliating enemies and slaves by symbolic castration, as a means of differentiating a circumcising group from their non-circumcising neighbors, as a means of discouraging masturbation or other socially proscribed sexual behaviors, as a means of removing “excess” pleasure, as a means of increasing a man’s attractiveness to women, as a demonstration of one’s ability to endure pain, or as a male counterpart to menstruation or the breaking of the hymen, or to copy the rare natural occurrence of a missing foreskin of an important leader, and as a display of disgust of the smegma produced by the foreskin. It has been suggested that the custom of circumcision gave advantages to tribes that practiced it and thus led to its spread.”

Based on this article, and my own ability to extrapolate very reasonable and educated-sounding assumptions that can pass for Truth, I’m going to take a stab at the two main reasons American penises are under attack.*

First, I think men secretly know that the penis is going to ruin their life. A lot of the time, we really love our penis and even call it our best friend. Before the invention of the X-Box, it was basically our most gratifying form of entertainment.

We’ve all heard the expression: “Oh, he’s in trouble because he let the little head do the thinking.” Well, what if you gave that little head a crew cut and took away his hiding place? I bet he’d fall in line right-quick.

Secondly, I think American doctors are all about circumcision because it’s a guaranteed procedure. Steady cash flow, that’s what a lot of doctors are all about. Sure, there’s a positive hygiene element to it. And don’t get me wrong. Without doctors I wouldn’t have even made my debut on this planet. So I’m not anti-doctor.

I’m just saying that I look at my penis some days and I can tell what he’s thinking.

He’s missing his hat.

When it’s cold, he looks up at me bitterly as I adjust my beanie.

When he’s feeling a bit low I bet all he wants is some private time. But he’s got no place to call his own, where he can withdraw from the world and just “be”. Where he can paint without fear of judgment. Maybe pick up the guitar and strum a few chords. Maybe fix the place up a little with a shag carpet and a bean bag chair.

Perhaps put a lava lamp in the corner. Yeah. My penis would be a stoner.

I’m just saying: everyone complains that there are a lot of insecure, angry dicks out there in the world. So here’s my suggestion: stop attacking their penises.

Nature designed the penis and it’s probably fine the way it is.

Seriously. Put down the knife.

 

* by the way, Muslims actually account for 63% of global circumcisions — give it up for a little cultural unity!