B is For Confessions (of a Dickhead)

As
the car sped violently down the highway, it hit him that he had lived in the
land of the celibate for so long, he had forgotten that his penis had, well, a
voice. And apparently opinions.
This carnal revival left much to be desired. For while knowledge is
considerable power, what actions lay waiting for him to take? 

The
truth lay in his hands. And with that truth, the responsibility to make penis
feel like part of the family again. 

Head
Heart Feet and Soul. These no longer were the only instruments of light and
right but so was he… or it. Yes, he was male, surely it must be too. It’s… His
opinions on the matter assured this. No longer did the devil lay hidden in his
pants to be crushed under foot (the very idea sent the now thoughtful master
into shivers) but he… it… he had as much truth to say as the rest of the
saints. “Saint”, a snicker rose from the master as the highway winds leapt up
his face, patting him ever so gently on the head. A saint. Yes, Saint Phallus
of The L’groin Territories. He quickly regained composure. No need for everyone
to think him mad at the point of his revelations.

But
still…

But.
Still…

Maybe
it was the realization that Phallus was not living up to some misguided
hedonist potential… whatever. The end result was the same. He should’ve asked
her to stay. He truly should have said, “stay”…