Hey, I remember this site! I used to write stuff on it! Ahhh good times.
How they change. These days I spend my time sat at work doing super important things. For instance, as I write this, I am eating sweets.
In my evenings I dress as a fairy princess and sing from the tree tops. I only sing heavy metal classics.
On the weekend I write children’s stories about murdered teenagers coming back as zombies intent on eating the worlds ant population while singing the theme to High School Musical.
So I don’t really have time for this site thus the long breaks between posts. But I know, I know…it is blatantly obvious that the list of things above that I say I do is a lie. There is no way I sit at work doing super important things. The rest? Hey, I never tried to tell you I was normal did I?
But I figured I should check in with you lot before you remove me from your feeds and regale you with a story about a guy that couldn’t get it up. No, it wasn’t me. Honestly, I can walk past a field of sheep and the little guy wakes u…..you know what, lets not carry on with that line.
a 44 year old guy who couldn’t get it up had some work done and then couldn’t get it down. Talk about a guy who never gets a break. He spent 8 months with an erection.
Excuse me for being bloody obvious here, but between the ages 14-24, I had a serious lack of blood to my head. It is why all young blokes are so goddamn dumb. Pretty girl walks past, you lose 15 IQ points. Problem is, at that age, EVERY girl is pretty to you. When you only have a couple of hundred points to start with, it isn’t long before you are a dribbling pile of pointless rubbish who nobody wants to be around.
Or a politician if you will.
Anyway, he also said that his scrotum swelled to the size of a volleyball.
Ummm….I have seen a volleyball. Heck, I even touched on once (no, stop the clapping and applause, it is embarrassing me) and if mine was to swell that size, I am confident it wouldn’t take me 4 months to see a Dr. I would John Wayne my way straight to the hospital. I would walk in, bounce my junk on the table and ask if they can give me a puncture.
‘I could hardly dance, with an erection poking my partner,’ he told the court.
Worst. Excuse. EVER.
I cant dance for sh*t. I don’t blame having a boner for this. I am a Dad. I dance like a Dad. When they are older my daughters WILL be embarrassed at family parties as I do my white man Dad-dance. I will think I am hip and shake my booty. Click my fingers together to the music and make facial expressions like I think my colostomy bag is about to split. There is no way he can blame his erection for this. And “Poking my partner”? Again…when I was 18 if I danced with a pretty girl…well…you know. You learn to deal with it. Stand in a certain way. Make excuses to go to the toilet.
Or as the song finishes and you get that few seconds between song that is a “Well…what do we do now?” between you and your dancing partner, I would stick my hand down my pants and rearrange myself ready for the next dance. Then hold her hand.
But this dude is suing because he got wood. He wants £6,400 (that is $10,000 US, 4385783475872356387639823475825576 Chinese Yuan and 17 buttons in a market in North Korea) just because he got an erection.
Honestly…If I could sue every time I realised I cant go out in public until my IQ returns to normal, I would never make it to work.
© 2013, Sy. All rights reserved.