Got this first message on OkCupid today:
My job is actually listed in my profile, but… You know, dude’s clearly busy flexing and blurring his penis. I can’t also expect him to read. Ain’t no blood in that brain.
I’m also, like…99% sure this is fake.
But hey, I’m sexy, hot, beautiful, AND pretty — I think he hit all four perfunctory tryna-get-laid compliment food groups there!
Sometimes I forget how much porn (erm…”erotica”) I follow on Tumblr until I open the app at work and “OMG, that’s a vagina. Gahhh, shut it down, shut it down!”
See also: wang. Giant, scary, first scene of “Trainwreck” wang.
“Your dick doesn’t end! Why doesn’t your dick end?!”
I just read that Donald Drumpf is now publicly defending his penis size.
Bigger (heh) question: Is it the same color as his face? #cheeto
Typical Thursday night, no big deal. Dinner. Drinks. Meeting and hugging one of my heroes. Ho hum.
“A lot of the individual penises didn’t happen to me. They happened to friends or family.” @caitlinmoran #howtobuildagirl
A happy bonus of working in a huge office complex is that, walking through the halls, I often see new people who work in other offices.
New, sexy people. With penises.
And sometimes I see them on casual Friday, when I did realize how clingy my outfit is, but it was too late to change it, so, “Hello, sir. Please behold all the best bits of my body — an hourglass with just the right amount of extra sand in it.” (“Allllll the right junk in allllll the right places.”)
I love my job.
Smug Singleton 