The Penis Diatribe
Hello. My name is Pierre, and I am a penis.
Yesterday, I upset Facebook, and they deleted my picture as “offensive content.”
I love the picture of me. My owner was in the shower, and I was barely peeking out between the closed, glazed shower doors.
And I certainly was in no way offensive or objectionable — and certainly not intimidating.
Thankfully, I am a Grower, and not a Show-er. I mean, really, if I were a Shower, I would be more of a Show-Me-Not, and I would go by my initials: P.P., or the translation from “Pierre” would be Pete, and not Peter.
Sadly, Facebook’s reaction to my innocuous photo reflects the very basics of what is wrong with the United States of America.
Hard to believe, so to speak? Well, let me ‘splain.
There are 1) American penii and 2) there all the others in the world. The land of Mom & Apple Pie is all about penii, and “mine is bigger than yours.”
Let’s start with Facebook.
On a daily basis, we are subjected to the worst vulgar words imaginable — simple profanity, racism, sexism, homophobia, atheist-bashing, liberal-bashing, Islam-hating excrement.
We see pictures of torture, murder, terror and mayhem. Countless pictures of people compensating by brandishing their guns, and sometimes showing them proudly posing with African lions, giraffes, rhinos and elephants — having won the “battle” against harmless creatures, with the odds worse than that idiot Custer at Little Big Penis.
Your kids can see all that?
The latest is the abomination of transgender bathrooms. The gun-toting, Bible-thumping morons who regularly see fillies use the men’s room at a frickin’ Ted Nugent concert, as they wade their way through the marijuana smoke, are all of a sudden outraged about bathroom usage. And, as always, the ones who cry the loudest are the ones with something to hide — some personal hole in their armor.
Lies. Sometimes I think there are more news lies on Facebook than truth. Bernie. Hillary. Trump. Cruz. Climate-change. Target. “The” Bakery. The Bible, and the history of Christianity.
The litany of lies is endless.
Even to the extent that the transcripts of speeches my owner has witnessed have been altered. Yup.
Your kids can see all that?
Video games with murder, torture, mayhem, faux terrorism. They go to movies rated “R” because they are big for their ages, and of course, of our own children are “precocious” — which is why we live our disappointments through them vicariously: in class, on the stage, on athletic fields.
Your kids can see all that?
America. Where the Wild, Wild, West came, and never left us. Coming to a screen near you in the form of MMA!
We treat sex as taboo, we almost never have the conversations about sex with our kids that we should have. Ricky and Lucy, June and Ward — separate beds.
We used to measure women’s bathing suits, and men are studs, and women are sluts.
Native Americans who wore natural dress were savages and heathens, thank you very much to those who came here for religious freedom. Our God is better than yours, so we will kill you.
Oh, and your God tells you to mutilate the penii of infants without their consent, while you’re screaming at the top of your lungs that life begins at conception, that fetuses are immediately human beings.
Same thing today — we need a wall to keep out Latinos, who are returning to the country we stole from them in perhaps the most unjust war in history, but those white Canadians pose no threat. God, I wish there had been a wall to keep out Ted Cruz.
Breast-feeding is an abomination. AYFKM?
As they pointed out in “The Da Vinci Code,” the blade and chalice are penis and vagina, respectively, and in the military, the person with the most “blades,” the most chevrons, is bigger and badder.
It’s no wonder you have all these counselors, therapists, philandering, divorces.
You’re fighting to be able to walk around with your penii strapped to your sides, because apparently your “brothers” hanging between your legs are lacking something.
In this country, you cannot be successful unless you have the “balls” for it.
You were the first and only to drop atomic penii on human beings, showing those yellow-skinned heathens that yours was bigger than theirs — and, yes, creating a couple very penis-like mushroom clouds.
You treat alcohol like you treat sex. It’s taboo, mystical — in your movies, in your locked cabinets, and on the “21” signs on the doors of your bars. Nobody drinks normally in movies, they slam it down, feel better, and go off to wage war, rescue the damsel, or go tell the woman in their life that they love them.
Only in ‘Merica…
Even “America” is presumptuous. You are NORTE Americanos, there are a couple dozen other countries in the Americas, and two others in the north. Nonetheless, you are known as Americans.
Almost universally, the rest of the world treats sex, nudity, alcohol, tobacco, firearms, breastfeeding, et al, as normal, healthy parts of life — nude beaches, topless beaches, communal baths, older folks wearing speedos, no walking around in the shops with guns.
No mystique. No guilt. No shame. No going to hell. No bravado. No lamenting the “good old days,” when beatings in schools were allowed.
No big deal.
And no ignoring their own citizens, their own infrastructure, because they need to spend billions to “save the world.” No other country has their phallic bombs and planes all over the world.
How do you react to that? “Those socialist/communist bastards!”
There is a backlash, of sorts, in this election, and it is understandable — but myopic, nonetheless. No matter what, many of you are voting for “the woman.” Period.
John Kennedy or Abraham Lincoln could be on the ballot, or even Obama running for a third term — nope, you are voting for the woman. As I said, understandable, but sad. Voting for the woman, just because of gender, is as atrocious as the history that still has your women as second-class citizens, practically and figuratively.
We never see T-shirts advertised that say “Mess With My Sons, and I Will Kill You!” or “Rules For Dating My Son!”. Those poor, helpless daughters…
When my owners’ daughter — he keeps me on a pretty short leash, btw — got a call from the Southerner who wanted to marry his oldest daughter, he thanked him graciously, but explained that it was not his decision to make. What a concept!
Tammy Wynette did not help things with “Stand By Your Man.”
Things will not change in my lifetime, nor even a hundred years from now, when I will be sitting pickled in a jar next to Rasputin’s penis, his ying to my yang.
Still, I have hope. The men of this country, in charge or not, need to stop “rising” to every occasion that presents them with the opportunity. Stop thinking and reacting with your con-genitals.
Some men have a B-52, and some have a Piper Cub — both fly quite well.
Oh — objects in the photo were larger than they appeared.