I recently bought underwear. I am a fucking interesting guy and this is a fucking riveting blog. I went for a brand name instead of a Woolworths 3 pack. I bought boxers. I saw the different sizes. I went for small, thinking I did not want to have to stuff my junk holder into my pants like breadcrumbs up a turkey’s sin-hole.
My dick is too long for my underwear.
As flattering as that is it is a problem. This was grown men’s underwear, not a loincloth for a child. If my favourite extremitycannot fit into a pair of boxers then they are made wrong. Nobody is proportioned like that. Either the person this was made for was some kind of benign house spirit or they are slowly collapsing inwards from the midsection.
Something about this whole situation feels wrong. It is way out of character. I do not have problems like these. My life is not meant to involve complements from uncomfortable pieces of hip cloth. I am one of those guys to whom size does not matter. Things like this are not meant to be important. Is it a test? Like giving a poor person who says money isn’t everything a million dollars?
Maybe it is a set up. Life giving me a little ego just so it can destroy it later. Should I destroy this underwear that speaks with the Devil’s whispers, telling me I could be a great lover? Should I show my flesh-saber to someone for confirmation? But if I do, and it is confirmed that I have an abnormally large pork stick, what will happen then? What will I become?
Will arrogance overcome me? Will I beat up nerds at the beach and drive a big car and get all the ladies? Will I collapse under the weight of my own ego, drawing everyone around into the black hole that is my giant penis? Is this the appendage apocalypse that the dick bible predicted?
What comes next?
What can man do against such reckless penis size?
I am buying medium next time.