Here's another one of my secret shames I'm willing to blab all over the internet: although I got the gene that makes boys queer (in spades baby)I missed out on that portion of it which allows the gays to spot dick. Darn DNA. While my gay brethren are able to scope out scrotum in the dark, around corners, in a blizzard and when lead-shielded, I am completely oblivious. I just don't see it. No matter the size of the moose-knuckle, I always miss it. They might has well be wearing a burkha.
My friends have long since become accustomed to my insensibility to male anatomy no matter how beguilingly displayed. Let me recreate a dialogue, originally delivered in tones of pity and exasperation:
"Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"That guy's box. He had the crotch cut out of his jeans with his dick painted silver and big pink bow tied around it."
"No kidding? Really? I didn't see it."
I hate it when my friends roll their eyes like that.
But I've decided to take control of my life. First, I've admitted my handicap, soon I'll organize a support group. But you can do your part. I'm here to announce the creation of Mrpeenee's Alliance for the Basket Blind. Won't you help?
So You Wanna Be a CROTCH WATCH?
ReplyDeleteI don't see why not, everybody else is.
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ReplyDeleteBelieve it or not, you are not alone in this affliction. It is only over the past few years that I've learned to eye the front of the pants as completely as I do the back. And I must say, it is well worth it. There is hope for us yet, Mr. P!
ReplyDeleteOnce long ago in my traveling cavalcade of antiquity I had the most marvelous opportunity when the Marlborough man himself stepped into my booth admiring my wares and a beautiful hand carved wooden box. “I really like boxes.” he said. Taking my eyes away from his crotch I said, “Oh, I really like baskets, myself.” See I had admired his fully visible crotch for a long stretch of about fifty yards. They say that when one is robbed of one sense the others double up and compensate. I feel that you probably have an advanced sexual sense of something or another but that you just went about your business as usual. One day we will discover that Mr. Peenee has the most highly developed sense of sexual scent. Sniffing his way about dangerous bathhouses with the sleuth of a Snoop Sister.
ReplyDeleteI'll man the telethon lines.
ReplyDeleteI've already booked Charo and Lorenzo Lamas.
This IS hope.
Oh, uh, god love you all. I guess. You know Jerry Lewis doesn't get this kind of support for his wimp-ass telethons.
ReplyDeleteI've been on Crotch Watch since I was about, oh, 10 maybe? So trust me we're talking HISTORY here. I'm like a truffle pig now, in a good way. Our prefered mode of reference is usually "lunch", or sometimes "lunch box".
ReplyDeleteMmmm, girl did you see that lunch box? Packing.
Fine, make fun of the handicapped, fine.
ReplyDeleteYou know, I have the same ailment.
ReplyDeleteWhat is a 'mo to do?
I think truffle pig is Andrew's new nickname. It's soooo cute.
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