Bobi was sitting in his usual spot, the sofa facing the television, when he had an idea. What if he could suck on his own phallus? Bobi tried and he tried, leaning and hoping with all his might, that his bulbous helmet could meet the sweet warmth of his own lips.

Then - another idea. What if he could remove his ribs?

Bobi hurried to the garage - he knew just what to do. He plugged in the cord to the table saw, and got to work.

Painfully, he managed to create a slit large enough to begin the extraction. Downing a fifth of peanut butter whiskey, he sawed until he felt the gray-white ribs give way.

He had done it. And with one final lean, he managed to do what others had called impossible. It was at this moment Bobi realized, the table saw had gone too far, as he felt the stinging of the peanut butter whiskey dripping down his groin region. His stomach was irreparable.

He now may be able to suck his own penis, but of what use is it to him without his one true love, the bottle.

Bobi was playing in the backyard, enjoying a sunny afternoon with his friends. They were tossing a wiffle ball around when, in a moment of mischief, Bobi decided to pretend he was a baseball slugger. With a dramatic swing, he tried to hit an imaginary pitch, but his grip slipped, and the wiffle ball bat flew backward, landing right up his ass.

The group froze. Bobi stood there, his face turning bright red, as he realized the bat had somehow wedged itself awkwardly. “Uh, guys…” he said, trying to stay calm. His friends burst into laughter, but Bobi couldn’t help but giggle too, despite the ridiculous situation.

After a few minutes of careful maneuvering and a lot of laughs, the bat finally came free. Bobi, slightly embarrassed but victorious, gave a sheepish thumbs-up. “I guess I’m just really committed to my role as a slugger,” he said, as the giggles continued.

Bobi had always lived life in the fast lane. A heavy drinker for years, he reveled in the chaos, the laughter, and the blurry nights. But one day, his body gave up. The doctor’s diagnosis was blunt: cirrhosis of the liver. The damage was done, irreversible. Bobi felt a strange emptiness, not just in his liver but deep inside.

One morning, as he stared at his hands, something caught his eye—his thumbs. The half moons—the small, white crescents at the base of his nails—were gone. A subtle, yet stark symbol of his body’s decline. They’d disappeared over time, like everything else he’d lost.

Bobi’s world had shrunk. No more late nights or careless drinking. Just the quiet hum of reality settling in. The loss of the half moons was a reminder of all he had taken for granted. But now, with only fragments of his past self, Bobi faced the hardest battle: to rebuild what had been destroyed, one small step at a time.

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Due to inflation, penis touching is now $6.

Will touch your penis for $5.