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I would like to make a list of the various things I would do if I ever acquired a penis of my own.

1. Mushroom Printing. I would love, Love, LOVE to dick-smack some chick with my penis. Over and over, and over again, until the imprint of my mushroom tip is imprinted onto her face. Don’t ask me why this appeals to me because I’m not all anti-woman, but it does.

2. Write my name in pee in the snow. Now I have heard from many a man that this is much, much harder than it seems, something about bladder control and the whatnot, but I think that a yellow cursive “Becky” would make my heart sing.

3. Have sex with a woman. Having only ever been a “catcher” in the bedroom (or any other room, really), I have never been able to conjure up in my mind what having sex with a gaping hole is really like. Don’t offer up a dildo to me, I want the real thing, mister.

4. Pee standing up. Now for someone like me, who has gone camping any number of times AND was born with a squirrel sized bladder, I have pissed on myself and my clothes more often than I’d like to admit to. I would enjoy tremendously nothing more than being able to whip it out and piss where I damn want to.

5. Jump up and down naked with an erection. Because, really, I want to see if it feels as funny as it looks.

6. Teach my penis to dance to a Madonna song. I have never, ever been able to convince someone ELSE with a penis to do this, and I imagine it would be the funniest thing. Ever.

7. Exit a restaurant bathroom with my penis hanging out, but the top of my pants buttoned. Now, I don’t mean that I’d actually ZIP my pants up ala Something About Mary, but moreover “forget” to tuck my willie back into my shorts. Hilarious.

8. Scratch my balls- because, OBVIOUSLY.

9. Wake up with Morning Wood. I want to know what it’s like to wake up with a drippy wet penis.

10. Have my balls licked. I need to have someone lick the chicken-skin of my balls and report back what it feels like.

There it is, folks, the reason that each of you have patronized our joint blogging venture for a year. Because we are not afraid in the least bit to go where no one EVER wants to go. But I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.

I was a sickly kid. Had I been born before the invention of antibiotics, I would have bit the bucket before my first birthday, not a doubt in my mind. Modern medicine saved my dimply ass more times than I could ever possibly count, but even still I was out of school more than I was in it. And while it SOUNDS kinda cool when you think about it really, it sucked ass.

When I was 14, I begged my doctor to take out my tonsils after I realized that they now had holes and craters in them where stuff was getting caught that I had to fish out. Which, hi, EW.

The surgery was a nightmare because my tonsils, having been used and abused by so many bugs for so many years had, for lack of a better word, rotted. LET THIS BE A WARNING TO YOU, PARENTS OUT THERE WHOSE PHYSICIANS TELL YOU TO TAKE OUT YOUR KIDS TONSILS: DO IT!

While the surgeon was in there, he niftily removed my adenoids too, because, well, why not?

What he never bothered to tell me, and what I didn’t realize until months later is that now I had no barrier between my mouth and my nose. At the wrong angle, let’s say a drinking fountain, water would simply pour from my mouth and out my nose.

It’s a charming party trick.

Having NO adenoids has made oral sex most irritating to perform, although now that I think of it, I bet there’s an untapped goldmine market for porn out there.

Nose Porn.

HOT.

Some people keep pets to protect themselves and their families from the gamut of intruders, burglars, murderers, and rapists that regularly prey on innocent people. Because they’re always talking about that on the local Fear Segment of the news, so it must be true.

Dogs are a common favorite for this. My brother, for example, trained his German Shepard to attack me whenever I walked into the house. There is no love lost between us, obviously.

My parents have 2 large dogs that alert them when: a) Someone is approaching the house b)Another animal is approaching the house or c) a squirrel farts down the block. It’s actually quite tedious to live with if, you know, you ever want to sleep or study or talk on the phone.

I’ve HEARD of people having cats that do similar things, you know, meowing and hissing whenever someone new comes over. My own cats would NEVER do anything of the sort because they are much more concerned with napping or licking their own assholes. Although Finnegan, my 25 pound cat we call “The Deer Hunter” may attack someone carrying in a cheeseburger or spinach salad, but only so he could eat some of it.

Who am I kidding, he’d eat ALL OF IT.

Apparently, over at Casa de la Sausage, we have inadvertently developed a new hybrid of attack-critters. A nest of wasps decided that our back porch was the perfect spot for a summer home. We cohabitated quite well until this morning, when I was ruthlessly attacked by the mess of wasps.

I guess that wasps are too stupid to train to attack “undesirables,” despite my sorted efforts, which mainly consisted of putting pictures of Pashmina out by the hive and chanting “attack the beast” over and over.

So now, in a haze of insecticide, my porch rests.

Peacefully, even.

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