I had this dream last night. I was walking through a hallway, and I came upon a dimly-lit room. There was nothing but a giant desk in front of an enormous shelf full of books, and the dim light was shining directly on it.
You remember those shows where the old guy would sit at the desk and open a book? He started reading a story, and the screen would fade out, and soon you’d be watching the story. It’s too early for me to think of the name or even bother to look it up.
It was like that, only there wasn’t any old guy reading a book.
I waited, but nothing happened. After several minutes, I turned to go.
“Thank you for joining us this evening,” A voice said.
I turned back to the desk. Sitting there was my penis. It was wearing a top hat and an Abraham Lincoln beard. The beard was around the crown of the penis, not down where pubic hair is meant to be. My penis began telling me a story. When it spoke, the tip spread so that the urethral opening moved like a mouth.
It told a fantastic story, and when I woke up this morning, I fought to remember it.
I forgot it, of course, so now you only get to hear about how I had a dream where my penis read me a story.