DO YOU HAVE A LICENCE FOR THAT PENIS, SIR?

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How desperate, pathetic and needy can one despairing/wretched penis carrier be? I suppose as fraught/pitiful as a vagina carrier.

This man approaches me with a ridiculous proposition of ‘cuddling whit him’. Can’t spell. Probably can’t cuddle. Has no clue, but lots of entitlement. Then when he is rejected, becomes a pathetic/pitiful/pitiable wretch.

On the bright side, he is not stupid. He just spelled the word ‘smart’ incorrectly. Go check it out.

What I want to know? DOES HE HAVE A LICENSE FOR HIS FUCKING PENIS? If he does, the license – and the thing- should be revoked. Oh wait! My license system has not been introduced yet. Here is how it should work:

All men should have their penises chopped off at birth. Don’t stop at the foreskin. Then, when they demonstrate the ability to be able to think without it and operate it responsibly they can apply to have it sewn back on. Maybe I’ll allow him to vote as well.

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But wait, there’s more! After I tell him to ‘fuck off’ he justifies in his own head that HE stopped the communication. But he hasn’t. He is still contacting me.

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This guy has not passed the test. Choppity-chop. Splurt. And it is not as if I didn’t give him a chance to get his learners’ license. I was kinder to him than most at the outset.

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Pass the fucking meat cleaver.

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