Hey what are you looking at? You think I do this because I look cool, because it makes me look like some sort of big cheese? Fuck that, no way. I do it because it turns me into a bald eagle with a REALLY big dick.
Some people take a smoke break at work for a quiet moment, or to get some fresh air, or to fulfill their body’s physical dependence on nicotine. FUCK that. I do it because when I inhale, I sprout wings and take to the sky, my enormous eagle shlong skimming along the clouds like the fishing rod in the DreamWorks logo. Does it piss of my coworkers? Oh you bet it does. When they see me soaring through open skies, willie flopping to and fro without a care in the world, they throw their smokes to the floor and cry out: “Fuck that bald eagle with the huge dick, I quit!” and they leave. Yeah sure, sometimes I get lonely.
“Is that a bird? Is it a plane?” people often exclaim. “Fuck no!” I yell as I swoop down, dongle head banging in breeze, “I’m a bald eagle with a giant dick!” Then I spread my wings and ascend into the big blue yonder, because when your pee-pee is this big, gravity doesn’t stand a chance. Yeah, okay, most of these people cry and run away into the woods, never to be heard from again, that’s true. Maybe sometimes I wish they’d stay. Sometimes.
Most people have to rely on planes for air travel. Man, fuck that. I just puff on a stogie and watch as my body shrinks and my ding-dong grows and I climb high into the vastness of the atmosphere, gliding dick first into the unknown. Sometimes I’ll come across a plane, or as I call them, dickless tube birds. Yeah, okay fine, when they see me the pilots usually go into cardiac arrest, causing the plane to crash and killing the hundreds of passengers on board. Sure, it’s a lot of potential friends lost. Some of them might have liked my record collection.
You might be saying, “Hey, do your friends still want to hang out with you now that they know you become a bald eagle with an oversized dingle every time you smoke a cigarette?” And yeah, okay, the answer is no, but hey, so what? I’ve found new friends. They all wear tails and send me Facebook invites to something called “fur-con”. How cool is that? That’s right, FUCKING cool. They even gave me Viagra and tried to mount a machine gun on my back. Maybe it fell off, maybe it landed on a pedestrian, and okay maybe it broke both their legs and put them in a coma, but hey, when your wiggly is this monumental you don’t have time to think about that shit.
“What about your parents” you say? “I bet they’re so proud to see their son transform into a bird of prey with a great big trouser snake and sail over the horizon on the ocean breeze” you say. FUCK no, they never smelled the gas…