The Sleeping Bear

I’m a guy. I have a penis. When most guys think about their penis, it’s probably with love and admiration. Heck, penises are the reason guys are here. If we didn’t have penises, we wouldn’t be able to reproduce. And our pee would back up into our mouth. That wouldn’t taste good.

I do love my penis. But I also hate it. Here’s why:

5. His name: Mr. Peepers. Why did I name him Mr. Peepers? I’m not sure. It just came into my head (the one on top) the other day. Sure, I could rename him. But men never take new names. That’s for women.

Now Mr. Peepers is kinda childish for a penis name. Big Al, Harry, Sasquatch, Straight Shooter Johnson McRichard – those are good penis names. They’re masculine, strong, forthright names. Mr. Peepers sounds like a pervert. He sneaks around peeping into windows. Or maybe he’s a clown. A sock puppet. Not a big, strong, virile penis.

4. Mr. Peepers is a dribbler. We’ve all had those moments: We’re pissing and we think we’re done. We do the obligatory three shakes (because more than three is playing with yourself) and start to zip up. Well, Mr. Peepers is a prankster. He likes to pretend he’s done and just after I zip “Cough, Cough, Spit Spit.” And I’m sitting there with a wet spot on my pants playing the fool. But I’m not that foolish – I splash water on my pants to make it look like an accident at the faucet, not a campaign by Mr. Peepers to discredit me.

3. Grade School Boners. Seriously, why would I suddenly get a boner while the lunch lady is dishing up mashed potatoes? She’s three bills and has a mustache. But Mr. Peepers didn’t care – he got all engorged and I had a flaming erection in the lunch line.

Or there was the time Mr. Peepers thought it was funny to live large while I was batting. In sweatpants. With a stiff wind highlighting my stiffy. Luckily I was 8 and didn’t know what an erection was or meant. But Billy’s dad, who later divorced his mom and moved to San Francisco, sure took a liking to me.

2. Midnight Madness. Talk about a sticky situation. There’s nothing like waking up to pants full of spoo. Sticky McDicky. Mr. Peepers seems to think it’s cool to give himself a milk mustache while I sleep. Well, it ain’t dude. And it ain’t fun peeling off penis skin trying to get Mr. Peepers unglued from my leg, either.

1. He’s just out of reach. Yeah, you heard me. It’s every guy’s dream. You know you’ve all watched the dog orally pleasure himself and thought “Damn. You lucky SOB.” Of course, to your significant other you’re all like “Dude, that dog is sick.” But sick in the X Games good way.

Nope, Mr. Peepers keeps himself just out of reach. We’ve got those darn extra ribs that keep him that way. And that’s why I hate him.

You got a reason you hate your penis? Drop a line in the comments and share you penis hate.