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The Post That Spun Wildly Out Of Control by Ray Printer Friendly

Okay, so here's the thing: I got 39 minutes before I have to officially call it bed time. That'll put me at midnight, and that's about as late as I can do these days and still be my usual charming self. Less than that, and I become a zombie-eyed asshole who wants to burn down old people who drive in the fast lane and my dick-hole manager.

By the way, "dick-hole" was meant to be an insult. I didn't mean to insinuate that I had a manager specifically for my dick-hole. Although that would be kind of cool. I mean, you ever have those days where you wake up, you stumble to the bathroom, open the fly on your underpants and start going, but instead of an actual stream, you get this weird sprinkler effect that waters down your socks? What the hell is that all about?

Times like that, a dick-hole manager would probably be pretty handy. I picture him being like a cross between a doctor and a businessman. Like maybe he comes in dressed in a suit, but with a white medical coat on. And one of those giant silver disc head things, you know what I'm talking about? Like this guy has:

Also, he'd be a midget. Because a dick-hole manager, he'd have to be small. If he was regular sized, he'd always be bending over, and that would be terrible for his back.

The thing is, these guys would be like the metal-workers of the old days, right? Where they have apprentices and whatnot, and if they have a son, the son takes over the business. But one day, there's a ruckus in the village!

Richard Glance, the best in the business, a man who has come from a long line of dick-hole managers, has been blessed with a son. But that is not what has caused the ruckus. What has the entire village in an uproar is that Richard's wife has given birth to...a regular!

The ancient art of dick-hole managing is about to crumble, unless this...this...normal can prove himself.

All through childhood, he's teased and abused because he can't handle bending over to examine pee-holes, and even as an adult, he is shunned and ignored.

The only thing he wants out of life is to manage dick-holes, but instead, he is forced to settle with making sandwiches at Subway. He pays particular attention while preparing the end, making sure that any condiment leakage is taken care of.

But then one day, there is an emergency in the village: a giant wanders in with an infected dick-hole. None of the elder dick-hole managers are able to get a look at it, and they are all too afraid to make a guess--for if they are mistaken, the giant will destroy the entire village.

Everyone panics, and the villagers begin evacuating. Peter--son of Richard--hears the news and realizes it is his time to shine. So he confronts the giant.

"Sir, you are destroying my village," Richard says. "I cannot allow this behavior to continue."

Was Peter afraid? Of course he was. The giant towered above him, and the giant's penis swung to and fro like some sort of phallic wrecking ball.

"My dick!" The giant bellowed. "It hurts so bad!"

"I can help you," Peter said, "If only you'll let me."

"I came to this village because I heard that this is where the best dick-hole manager resided. So far, all I see is a bunch of midgets who hate to be covered with dick-leak."

"I am no midget, sir. I am a normal, and I come from a long line of dick-wizards. Please...let me examine you."

"I will let you manage my dick-hole," the giant said, "But mark my words: if you fail me, I will destroy this entire world with my phallic drippage."

"I will not fail," Peter said, and then set to work.

Peter pushed aside the doubt formed by years and years of teasing by his peers, and examined the giant's dick-hole. The tension in the village was palpable--each and every resident understood that the future of life hung on the actions of the person they had mocked for years.

"There," Peter said, finally. "I think that did it."

"I feel so much better," the giant said. "What did you do?"

"You had the corpse of Michael Jackson shoved up your dick-hole. I removed it."

"Thank you, dick-manager. Thank you!"

"Don't mention it. But from now on, only put the corpse of Michael Jackson where it belongs--up your asshole."

"I will! Oh, I will!"

The giant was so thankful that he paid off the national debt of the village.

Peter was a hero, and they put him on the five-dollar bill. They were going to put him on the dollar bill, but even with the debt paid off, a single dollar wasn't worth shit, so they stuck him on the five.

And although I have no idea where I was going with this, rest assured that we got there.

Posted under The Rants on 2/09/10


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