Last night, in a post about a new bar in Ypsi, I noted my dislike of trough urinals. This admission attracted the following comment from an Ypsilantian by the name of Karen.
If you’re ashamed of your penis that much, you should get a catheter for when you go out to eat.
In a later comment, she went on to speculate that I may suffer from “discoloration problems,” or that there may be something unusual going on with my testicles.
Well, after consulting with my family, and several local clergymen, I’ve decided to make a statement.
There’s nothing wrong with my penis.
Truth is, I just don’t much enjoy excreting bodily fluids in front of strangers.
For what it’s worth, I also try my best not to poop in front of people that I don’t know.
And, I should add, that has nothing to do with the shape, coloration or functionality of my anus. (It’s exquisite, by the way.) I just think that some things are best kept private.
But, as I know that many of you, like Karen, are suspicious by nature, and think that there’s some kind of penile deformity lurking beneath the crotch of my Toughskins, I’ve asked Linette to submit a sworn affidavit describing every subtle nuance of my genitalia. (She’s been keeping detailed notes on it for close to two decades now, so the report should be somewhat exhaustive, and I’m hoping that it will put any lingering doubts to rest once and for all.) And, if this doesn’t satisfy Karen and the other Penile Truthers in the audience, I’ll submit to examination by a neutral party (preferably someone with a lab coat).
And, for what it’s worth, my mother says that I have a beautiful body.