What’s that on my Johnson?

Well class, I didn’t plan on addressing such delicate matters so early in your education, but alas, I caught a little something from a particularly nasty chica by the name of Esquita last week, and thought it perfectly apropos to discuss my latest affliction: a festering case of the PRAWNS. It’s a rare condition, portaged by dames who mistakenly believe live sea sponges can be used as contraceptive devices.

Basically, your Johnson curls up upon itself and forms a hard exoskeleton. The only known cure is to bathe it periodically with fresh lemon juice and a mixture of ketchup and horseradish (I believe the medical term is “Cocktail Sauce”). In the meantime, hanging it over the edge of a large glass garners some relief. I’ll keep you all posted on my rather vexatious convalescence.



(Figure 1) My physician sizing up the "Prawnification" of my manhood. Some keen observers out there may notice my tattoo of a set of cherries on my tuchus. I won't go into that tawdry tale at this juncture, but suffice to say, it's sure to bring a grown fella to tears. Here's to you, Ma!




(Figure 2) Here's a manual that my physician gave me to read. I was unaware Little Golden Books dealt with such ailments. Apparently, it's a new "Lifestyle" category of tomes they're coming out with. Other titles include "The Poky Little Pee-Pee", and "Sore Nutsack: The VD Squirrel"