There it goes, man. Bus load of tiny dicks.
Seriously though, the bus? What does that even mean? Boating in a swimsuit?
The questionnaire is 27 questions long. Among the other 26, this person didn’t make a single joke, so I was forced to re-read this answer a few times to try and determine if this was supposed to be a joke. My conclusion was that this was sincere and this man has been shouldering the heavy burden of massive blood thinning every time he has an erection. If he were to get aroused in the middle of a nose bleed, he would probably die.
I had to include this one because, frankly, I see this too often and I’m sure you do too. You’re walking along in your Speedo and your peers are all “here comes the behemoth!” and they all point at your massive dick or use a laser pointer to point at your massive dick or they stop you and have a guy do one of those hilarious caricature portraits of you and your massive dick and in the picture your massive dick is actually some manner of serpent coiling out of your pant-leg and devouring small children.
And then later, you’re with the water polo team, and the guys on your water polo team, the ones who didn’t get caught in the undertow of your dick moving through the water, suggest that you do porn. That’s happened to me twice since I started writing this article. Only replace “water polo” and “guys talking about my dick” with stuff that’s about 50 times less queer.
Ladies, let this be a lesson to you if you’re in the market for a well-endowed man: Apparently they all play water polo. Then, let this be a warning to you, as apparently they’re all extremely gay. So gay guys, let this be a lesson to you.
Now, you were probably wondering about that dunking in the toilet question. I know I was, and I find myself giving the bowl a quick look every time I go to the can now, just in case there’s something lurking in there. And while most people curiously answered this question with a simple “yes” implying that there are many toilets out there far more full than mine, a few people decided to at least be a little more explicit with their answers.
The fact someone typed that out is quite frankly a wonder to me, but that’s neither here nor there. The logistics are what I’m finding curious at this point. As near as I can tell, this means there’s someone out there, possibly at this very moment, sitting on the can holding his nutsack in one hand in order to stop himself from chumming the waters below.
Least Believable Page on the Web: Large Penis Support Group
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Ian Fortey
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- April 19, 2010
Like me, you’re probably crouching in front of your computer right now because no chair crafted by mortal hands can withstand the onslaught of your manhood unless you shimmy up slowly and buffer yourself with a lot of Styrofoam packing peanuts. Also like me, you are a liar.
Lying and dicks have a long rich history. See what I did there? Luckily, the Large Penis Support Group exists so the dongtastically blessed can have a place to share experiences and learn new ways to deal with their crippling, knee-bruising disability. I ventured to the open forums of the site so you wouldn't have to click that link up there and perused the message boards. There were topics detailing things like what undies work best to tame the beast without choking it into unconsciousness and what to do if your scrotum doesn’t hang low enough. Low enough for what? Heavens, where to begin?
Pictured: testicle metaphor. The first thread welcoming new members was a list. I write lists for the Internet too! Check and mate.
Getting To Know My Fellow Forum Members
Unfortunately, it was as awful as a list questioning the inconveniences of having an over-sized wiener could be and featured questions I’m not comfortable answering, such as “Are there certain clothes you can't wear? (briefs, certain jeans, thongs, etc)” and “If you sit on the toilet, does it dunk in the water?” My God, they can dunk in the water? That’s disgusting for any number of reasons. Worse than the actual questions were the ensuing 475 replies.
I can only imagine how proud this man’s wife is. He took to the Internet to express his joy (or lament his sorrow, he doesn’t really specify) about filling her Old Dominion. Before him, she probably had to get three or four guys and some foam insulation to pad out all the nooks and crannies I assume exist inside a woman’s areas. Now she’s chock a block with wall to wall awesome. I stopped typing this just to high five the air.
Here’s a fellow that my heart goes out to. Day after day he has to trudge through life lugging Sasquatch around in his drawers and look at the drawbacks he faces. Look at the horror of his every day life. Because of his immense wang he’s never sure if a woman just wants him for his dick. Plus he can’t ride the bus. Goddamn. I thought, as a society, we were better than this. Someone find this man a woman who can look past his schlong--that must be so massive it has teeth at this point--and into his heart. His non-public transit riding heart.
Settling In
Now that I’d familiarized myself with the ins and outs, I figured it was time to peruse the other boards and see what the site had to offer. Would there be group meetings? Moral support? Tales of personal anguish? No, but there was this:
The problem with this is everything. Just everything.
I decided to abandon that section of the site and move on to less trauma-based threads. Like boudoir issues. Haven’t been able to be in the same room as your sexual partner in years? Worry no longer, there’s a whole board to share tips on how to get the Rancor into the cave.
This is the Rancor keeper. Makes the whole metaphor creepier, doesn’t it?
And then there’s this;
I’m not a doctor, so I don’t know if a penis rectangle is a real thing, but I think that’s what is being described there. Moving on.
Ladies, you haven’t been forgotten either, there’s a board just for you on the forums to discuss whatever bruising or blunt force trauma issues you face. Plus you can just talk to other women about poignant, schlong related issues, like this:
This was from a much longer post that could have easily been reduced to the single sentence I cropped out. First, this guy has an awesome girlfriend and second, what a wonderful glimpse into the secret world of women that men so rarely get to see. Who knew ladies were sitting around pondering ways to give up their virginities and PSPs?
Much like the forums here at Cracked, the LPSG has a board dedicated to the world of celebrity. And, much like the forums here at Cracked, everyone is obsessed with which Dr. Who was packing the most splendid groin hammer. In case you were curious, this thread actually goes on for 11 pages. It stays on topic the entire time.
They all look as though they know why this picture was being posted on Cracked. I tried to take a moment to appreciate the ramifications of and the motivations for this question but came up empty. It occurs to me a couple of Drs. Who are dead, however, and that’s a bit of a downer. Clearly this group has stunning highs and terrible lows.
Making My Mark
Leaving science fiction dink speculation behind, I felt it was time to really do my best to see if I could meld with the community and become an integral member, or at least rattle off as many synonyms for dick as I could in a short period of time. And then I saw this:
While a part of my soul screamed in vain for me to not be completely retarded, I clicked the link anyway and was treated to a one sentence descriptor of this fellow’s ability to snake his own drain, accompanied by a photo link. Like a five-year-old being dared to prove they can really eat all those lead paint chips, I took the link as a challenge and barreled forth. I’m going to be completely honest, it was actually a picture of a dude with his wang jammed in his own ass.
I don’t know what I thought would happen when I clicked the link. At first I was simply assuming this was a clever ruse because why would a picture of a dude self spelunking even exist? Seriously. There isn’t really a satisfactory answer to that question despite Brockway’s insistence that it’s artistic. Afterward, I settled comfortably into the belief that I’d just had a mild seizure and my brain took a metaphorical panic shit around the area that processes visual queues and probably all I’d actually seen was a photo of a deer, I just fucked up interpreting it.
I needed to find a board I could comfortably post something, anything on. There’s a board specifically dedicated to funny stuff, that seemed like it had potential. It promised jokes, quizzes and games. Unfortunately it also promised pics, but it’d be no worse than half the stuff I research to write articles, I assumed. I once had to look up anal ring toss.
Know what’s behind that mosaic? Ring toss, man. In the butt.. The first thread I happened upon hilariously queried whether I would rather fellate Johnny Depp or Mark Wahlberg. Oh man, good one. This was later contrasted with President Obama or Charlie Sheen. Why those two? Because this board is a raucous laugh riot, that’s why. The remaining threads seemed to be whimsical forum games such as “last person to post wins” and “would you have sex with the poster above you.” I’m not kidding when I say I literally suffered a mirth related aneurysm. I assume. For those keeping count, that’s two serious brain injuries on this site already. The funny board was not for me, but there was a board for stories. As a semi-literate writer, I can appreciate that. The first story, entitled “On a Hungarian Farm,” I refused to open. Do you know what happens when you cross Hungarian farms with a website devoted to penis? Neither do I and I’m pretty happy with that. After seeing “My First Day at Donkey Dong High” further down the page, I clicked the back button.
Ha, donkeys are hilarious!
It was at this point I was forced to conclude that I really don’t belong in the Large Penis Support Group. Not because I don’t have a meat constrictor of Lovecraftian proportions--I assume mine will grow in eventually, I hear some people don’t blossom until their mid 30s--but because I’m not out there showing my dong to water sports enthusiasts or dry humping toilet bowls, so to speak. I almost never want to debate which James Bond has the hairiest sack and I don’t want to compare pictures of asses ensconced in wrestling singlets with other dudes. I just don’t belong. With a heavy heart, I packed up my profile and I left the Large Penis Support Group. Every now and then I hear rumors that it’s out there still. A place where men discuss accidentally bruising other people’s torsos on elevators, and what cartoon character they’d most like to plow. A place where I was not meant to dwell.