The A-Hole

It’s with a heavy heart-on that I write you today.

As you know, O loyal comrades, we’ve been playing with each other’s dicks for 5 long years. Don’t think I haven’t memorized your sumptuous dick notes. Don’t think I take your giant pork swords for granted.

Alas, I’ve just returned from a vision quest on the icy tundra of North Las Vegas, and under the interstate, I found my true self bathing in a tub of industrial-strength White-Out. Let me be frank. This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. It’s not you; it’s him, and he’s really hot.

So, without further ado, from this sentence forth, I am retiring from the cardboard dick industry. I repeat; I’m officially stepping down from the bone throne. After an interminable ten seconds of serious self-reflection, I’ve realized I’m not a dick. Turns out I’m a conniving, self-indulgent, panty-pooping Asshole.

To commemorate this moment in cardboard naughty part history, I present to you the A-hole. Made from the leftover cardboard of your broken dreams, the A-hole is basically an apology for leading you on. A pair of ass-cheeks spread wide by some cardboard hands, the A-hole cums with an artisanal starfish anus. To really put the hay where your goats can get at, we’ve stuck a party blower through the hole.

Go ahead, blow it out your asshole to your heart’s content. It won’t bring me back. O my pathetic little nymph brigade, I’ve moved on. Current dick orders will be fulfilled with alacrity and grace. As for us, we’re finished. But whenever you look up at the night sky and see a throbbing constellation boner tickle Orion’s bearded face, think of me, darling. Think of me.

Love Alwayz N 4EVA,

Monsieur Asshole—the artist formally known as Mr. Dick.

(Written for April Fools day.... We're still shipping dicks!)

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