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  1. Mindless
    I'd like to talk to you about my penis. Come on, we've all seen a few and some of us have clapped eyes on more than others (you know who I'm taking to). So stop smirking like some Edwardian schoolchild and show this proud lexical unit the respect that is it's due.

    When i was knee-high to a grasshopper's genitalia my Uncle Baldylocks said, "Mindless, when a man can say Penis without sniggering he's showing true spunk."

    Old Baldy instilled in me a lifelong passion for sensible phallic discourse. I dedicate this blog to my tonsured penile prophet.

    I rose around 4 a.m. this morning. Although urination cured that problem sleep evaded me; I had a pretty important interview to attend and was all a-quiver with anticipation. I decided to kill a couple of hours on the forum, before I know it I had 15 minutes to put on my suit and leg it down the bus stop.

    I made it with seconds to spare. As I boarded the nice lady bus driver commented that I was 'flying low'. In my haste to remedy this I yanked up the zip. I'll tell you this, Marks & Spencers flies are remarkably resilient when embedded five kinks-deep in the pecker-parker hood.

    I waddled manfully, in search of a seat in a sufficiently discrete location to release my jammed janglyman. Naturally, I ended up surrounded by elderly ladies and young mums with kids.

    My intense craving to frantically tug at my privates was to be resisted at all costs. I disembarked in the city centre and found a McDonald's with a vacant cubicle. This was a serious logjam but time was running out; I was due in the office in ten minutes.

    I took that zipper tag and gave a herculean heave. As the penis has a healthy blood supply, the resulting 4 millimitre gash continued to gush. I had to wad toilet roll and secure this in place with an adhesive silver notice glued to the roll dispenser.

    I managed to pull off a good interview without looking as if I were a freak case of male menstruation. My penis wound has scabbed over and is clean; but is now complaining of a 'headache' and has vetoed smegma production on health and safety grounds.

    Respect M&S trouser zips and make Old Baldy's legacy count; say 'Penis' and say it with (somber) pride.

    Would anyone else care to relate Penis anecdotes in a sober, mature fashion with absolutely no use of double entendre or unseemly smut?

Comments

  1. Beenthere2Hippie
    Though I myself have no such wondrous member to personally brag about or stroke endlessly, my husband has one that he's always more than willing to let me touch and play with for as long as I'd like (whether I'm in the mood to or not). Aren't we girls fortunate? But penis or no penis, I still have a tale to tell.
    When my now-grown son was a wee boy of about eight, and was just old enough to use the men's room at the local market on his own, while I, the mom, waited nervously within ear-shot in case of emergency. Well this one day, I heard his agonizing whimpers coming from the men's room, as I stood helplessly right outside the door. What possible reason could I could come up with in order to march into the men's room to go in and help my son, I thought, as he finally came out on his own, seconds later?
    It seems that my son had mowed over his dick with his pants zipper with a vengeance, much the same as you had, Having driven his penis right into the on-coming, blood-thirsty instrument of torture, the mindless but severely dangerous zipper--a human genitalia mangler if there ever was one--that has yet to be challenged for unexpected penis pain, except for the short-lived and momentarily infamy years hence of a wife by the name of Lorena Bobbitt...but that's a tale for another day.
    Suffice it to say that my son--with his pants barely zippered and his face awash in smudgy, smeary tears of shock and dismay-- bounded familiarly and thankfully once again into the safety and familiarity of the ladies room where he had, for years, embarrassingly, been forced against his will to toddle along with his mom and other ladies so he could pee. How mortifying.
    We jointly cleaned the spilled blood of my sones young manhood, and then all but kissed all memory of the boo boo pain away..again a story of why mommies kissing SOME boo boos was a no no was still safely many years away from being to be explained.
  2. Jake.
    LMAO!!!!! I only just realised a pic of my penis was on my profile, from the sex and drugs group!
  3. Mindless
    If only a good woman were to kiss away genital boo-boos the next time I land on my bikes crossbar. Instead, I shall attend the nearest ER and request that said testicular (in particlar) boo-boo be kised away under medical supervision. Nurse, give this man's genital boo-boo a kiss-better STAT!

    Jake, how did you respond affectively to cognitive, writen and read personal use of he word penis? A person who does not smirk, even internally, at use of the word penis is noble. A man's penis word user among male penis word users.

    You do your group a great honour of posting a picture of a penis. Divine imagery and art (well, in this case piss-art) can helps us beome closer to our devine penis-nature. My own penis is akin to my personal god, or Pod. (One could only infer that I'm not refering to an allegorical expresion of the infinite attribues of the First Cause).

    No, it feels akin to animism (or manimism). For the first time I am connected to Penis. I feel that we all share a penis-devine nature; my penis is in everything, everything is in my penis. I envisage regional gaurdian penis ancestor spirits in the wild beauty of the the East Midlands, protecting the towns and fields of the many closed Coal Pits against the ravages on Trade Union rights.

    Thatcher would be drawn to the area as an evil spirit; warmed by her murder of the perilosly effective National Union of Minors. Tugged closer still by the betrayal of the Nottingham Union of Miners and the fall from influence of the great Arthur Skargill; her true nemesis. Laughing demonically at the death of the British Coal Industry and employment rights.

    Practitioners of devine penis awareness would have no need for a rosary or mala either. This faith is for all humans. Saying mantras or Hail Marys while Pullin the Pud could engender pride in this most gentlemanly form of relaxation. I volunteer to have mine pulled
    so that women and David Cameron need not miss out.

    Homage to the Penis-Lord.
  4. Beenthere2Hippie
    I know a nurse in the US who would be more than happy to kiss away your penis's boo-boos whenever they happen to occur. But her being located in the US makes it a rather long commute to receive that level of excellence in penal care. *sigh

    Do always remember, though, that your penis, Mindless, remains one of the very rare DF Element of Wonder, now and throughout the site's future. No other member can say that, can they, our amazing man? :-

    Nodda. None.
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