NaBloPoMo

Wieners take a lot of practice.

“You’re getting piss all over the place!”

Good afternoon.

Have you ever tried to control a penis while it’s peeing?

“I’m not stopping the stream. You better get some control.”

You need to ever so lightly press down on the penis so it makes the straight – straight-ish – stream into the toilet.

“Jesus, what are you doing?! You can’t reach in between my legs and grab it from underneath! That’s my sack!”

It takes practice.

“A grip?! What do you mean a grip?”

It takes precision. Ask any boy in potty-training.

“Your hands are ice cold. Don’t hit the crutches or I might fall.”

A penis doesn’t need toilet paper. A couple shakes will do.

“STOP LASSO’ING! It’s not a Goddamn rodeo. What the hell is wrong with you?! I swear to God, if I fall…”

Pull up the underwear.

“Don’t tuck it down! I’m not a baby!”

Pull up the pants, put the toilet seat down, and flush.

“Move. Move. Just leave the toilet alone. Do this later. I. can’t. move. I need you to help me move.”

Slowly, hobble back to bed and go to sleep.

“Wake up. I think I need to poop. I’ve been holding it, hoping it will go away. I don’t think a plate will work. Get me a bowl.”

And that’s the cue to take the penis to the hospital for back pain. If you can’t sit, that calls for a Godsend nurse – saving us all in the name of medicine.

I can help the penis but I cannot help the butthole.

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