dogcrash truther posted:

dogcrash truther posted:

Ein cooler Typ posted:

hello my name is ein cooler typ and it has come to my attention that some of you are interested in knowing more about my dick. lets begin with the testicles. some people think the testicles are not technically part of the dick and I can respect that but in my case the testicles literally are part of the dick, they do not hand separately from the taintspace behind the shaft but in fact dangle halfway down the shaft like a roosters wattle. I assure you however thay theyre fully functional.

With that out of the way, lets consider each testicle separately. Left testicle: you’ll notice I don’t call my testicles “balls” and lefty is the reason why; this testicle is basically a hairy pyramid. The central chamber, easily accessible by a spacious hallway once you’ve discovered the entrance is full of beautiful but non functional sperm to confuse would-be robbers. The actual “home of the mummy” (sperm) is reached via a hidden passage (Vas deferens) co ncealed behind a statue one third of the way down the hallway.
Right testicle: the right testicle is a ball all right, it’s a baseball because I’m a true blue American. My right testicle features a cork center wrapped in yarn and covered in two strips of white horsehide tightly stictched together. It is signed b y the 1989 oakland athletics who not only swept the alcs that year but beat their cross-Bay rivals the San Fransisco giants in a classic world series and thus has sigifnicant collectible value having been signed by not only mark mcguire and jose Canseco but legendary base-stealer ricky Henderson, hall of fame manager tony larussa, and the 6.9 (lol) Loma Prieta earthquake which interrupted game 3 mere minutes before it was scheduled to start


_{the signature of the loma prieta earthquake, on my balls. I hope that because it is a close-up picture it is safe for work, please don’t probate}

Ok so now, my dick. because of the size its better to talk about my penis in terms of regions rather than as a whole.t he reason I haven’t posted a picture of my coworker measuring it is that she’s still going. she had to hire a surveyor. in truth certain regions of my wang are too far away for me to have direct knowledge of them, so some of what im writing here is summarized from the journal entries of the various cock explorers who have undertaken the perilous journey up the shaft.
Beginning with the region which is over the horizon, reports differ on whether I am circumcised or not. under certain atmospheric conditions which increase the clarity of the intervening medium I sometimes fancy that i can see a slight fleshy protuberance of the corona glandis which would indicate that i am as the jews would wish me to be. At the same time the sheer manpower, to say nothing of custom-made shears which such a project would necessitate argue against it. spending no more time on this mystery: all sources agree that my dickhole is graced with a single tooth, flat and sharp like an incisor which makes my peeny, when regarded from the front look like “a drooling idiot” (journals of Juan de las Pelotas).

Moving on to regions that are within the reach of high powered binoculars, the region behind the glans but in front of my testicles is a wild windwept plain inhabited by tribes of noble, savage horsemen who have developed an immunity to the secretions of my herpetic lesions; their society, though patriarchal in the extreme is dominated by the worship of a mother-goddess whose female attendants are tasked with chanting long penile-paeans to my fruictifying member. For instance. One of them might call it her little dille, her staff of love, her quillety, her faucetin, her dandilolly. Another, her peen, her jolly kyle, her bableret, her membretoon, her quickset imp: another again, her branch of coral, her female adamant, her placket-racket, her Cyprian sceptre, her jewel for ladies. And some of the other women would give it these names,—my bunguetee, my stopple too, my bush-rusher, my gallant wimble, my pretty borer, my coney-burrow-ferret, my little piercer, my augretine, my dangling hangers, down right to it, stiff and stout, in and to, my pusher, dresser, pouting stick, my honey pipe, my pretty pillicock, linky pinky, futilletie, my lusty andouille, and crimson chitterling, my little couille bredouille, my pretty rogue, and so forth.

i have never heard these chants myself but reportedly they involve complex counterpoints and hypnotic rhythms which may give rise to strange hallucinations and sudden rages when paired with a psychoactive liquor the horsemen brew from the residue of my seminal fluids.

The final region of my dick is a jungle of lush hair, home to over 700 unique species of birds and insect, three kinds of tree frog, and a rare giant panda. The thicket is too dense for human habitation, unbroken except for the clearings around the horny pustules that erupt from the base which I call “fairy rings” because they glow in the dark, and except for one small clear-cut space I maintain near the pubis, upon which I have built a shack for the caretaker of my penis.
The role of the caretaker is to provide for the livestock and maintain the machinery necessary to pump their blood into my dick during erectile events. given the immense girth and reach of my dick, the loss of bloodflow to other parts of my body would kill me every time I get a stiffy, so a series of biometric sensors have been rigged up to provide early warning in case of tumescence. When the alarm goes off, the caretaker starts the machines which drain the sheep, cattle, and pigs of their blood and transfuse my woody with the life essence of animals. A dorsal drainage canal run subcutaneously down the length of my dick releases the excess blood once arousal has dissipated.

Obviously theres a lot more I could say about my dick but I’m over my word count as it is. I hope that you understand why there haven’t been any pictures yet (my coworker entered the hairy region several days and has not retuned) , and why I cant take them myself (do not own camera with panorama mode or sufficient zoom). Sincerely yours ein cooler typ

Ein cooler Typ posted:

hello my name is ein cooler typ and it has come to my attention that some of you are interested in knowing more about my dick. lets begin with the testicles. some people think the testicles are not technically part of the dick and I can respect that but in my case the testicles literally are part of the dick, they do not hand separately from the taintspace behind the shaft but in fact dangle halfway down the shaft like a roosters wattle. I assure you however thay theyre fully functional.

With that out of the way, lets consider each testicle separately. Left testicle: you’ll notice I don’t call my testicles “balls” and lefty is the reason why; this testicle is basically a hairy pyramid. The central chamber, easily accessible by a spacious hallway once you’ve discovered the entrance is full of beautiful but non functional sperm to confuse would-be robbers. The actual “home of the mummy” (sperm) is reached via a hidden passage (Vas deferens) co ncealed behind a statue one third of the way down the hallway.
Right testicle: the right testicle is a ball all right, it’s a baseball because I’m a true blue American. My right testicle features a cork center wrapped in yarn and covered in two strips of white horsehide tightly stictched together. It is signed b y the 1989 oakland athletics who not only swept the alcs that year but beat their cross-Bay rivals the San Fransisco giants in a classic world series and thus has sigifnicant collectible value having been signed by not only mark mcguire and jose Canseco but legendary base-stealer ricky Henderson, hall of fame manager tony larussa, and the 6.9 (lol) Loma Prieta earthquake which interrupted game 3 mere minutes before it was scheduled to start


_{the signature of the loma prieta earthquake, on my balls. I hope that because it is a close-up picture it is safe for work, please don’t probate}

Ok so now, my dick. because of the size its better to talk about my penis in terms of regions rather than as a whole.t he reason I haven’t posted a picture of my coworker measuring it is that she’s still going. she had to hire a surveyor. in truth certain regions of my wang are too far away for me to have direct knowledge of them, so some of what im writing here is summarized from the journal entries of the various cock explorers who have undertaken the perilous journey up the shaft.
Beginning with the region which is over the horizon, reports differ on whether I am circumcised or not. under certain atmospheric conditions which increase the clarity of the intervening medium I sometimes fancy that i can see a slight fleshy protuberance of the corona glandis which would indicate that i am as the jews would wish me to be. At the same time the sheer manpower, to say nothing of custom-made shears which such a project would necessitate argue against it. spending no more time on this mystery: all sources agree that my dickhole is graced with a single tooth, flat and sharp like an incisor which makes my peeny, when regarded from the front look like “a drooling idiot” (journals of Juan de las Pelotas).

Moving on to regions that are within the reach of high powered binoculars, the region behind the glans but in front of my testicles is a wild windwept plain inhabited by tribes of noble, savage horsemen who have developed an immunity to the secretions of my herpetic lesions; their society, though patriarchal in the extreme is dominated by the worship of a mother-goddess whose female attendants are tasked with chanting long penile-paeans to my fruictifying member. For instance. One of them might call it her little dille, her staff of love, her quillety, her faucetin, her dandilolly. Another, her peen, her jolly kyle, her bableret, her membretoon, her quickset imp: another again, her branch of coral, her female adamant, her placket-racket, her Cyprian sceptre, her jewel for ladies. And some of the other women would give it these names,—my bunguetee, my stopple too, my bush-rusher, my gallant wimble, my pretty borer, my coney-burrow-ferret, my little piercer, my augretine, my dangling hangers, down right to it, stiff and stout, in and to, my pusher, dresser, pouting stick, my honey pipe, my pretty pillicock, linky pinky, futilletie, my lusty andouille, and crimson chitterling, my little couille bredouille, my pretty rogue, and so forth.

i have never heard these chants myself but reportedly they involve complex counterpoints and hypnotic rhythms which may give rise to strange hallucinations and sudden rages when paired with a psychoactive liquor the horsemen brew from the residue of my seminal fluids.

The final region of my dick is a jungle of lush hair, home to over 700 unique species of birds and insect, three kinds of tree frog, and a rare giant panda. The thicket is too dense for human habitation, unbroken except for the clearings around the horny pustules that erupt from the base which I call “fairy rings” because they glow in the dark, and except for one small clear-cut space I maintain near the pubis, upon which I have built a shack for the caretaker of my penis.
The role of the caretaker is to provide for the livestock and maintain the machinery necessary to pump their blood into my dick during erectile events. given the immense girth and reach of my dick, the loss of bloodflow to other parts of my body would kill me every time I get a stiffy, so a series of biometric sensors have been rigged up to provide early warning in case of tumescence. When the alarm goes off, the caretaker starts the machines which drain the sheep, cattle, and pigs of their blood and transfuse my woody with the life essence of animals. A dorsal drainage canal run subcutaneously down the length of my dick releases the excess blood once arousal has dissipated.

Obviously theres a lot more I could say about my dick but I’m over my word count as it is. I hope that you understand why there haven’t been any pictures yet (my coworker entered the hairy region several days and has not retuned) , and why I cant take them myself (do not own camera with panorama mode or sufficient zoom). Sincerely yours ein cooler typ

Ein cooler Typ posted:

hello my name is ein cooler typ and it has come to my attention that some of you are interested in knowing more about my dick. lets begin with the testicles. some people think the testicles are not technically part of the dick and I can respect that but in my case the testicles literally are part of the dick, they do not hand separately from the taintspace behind the shaft but in fact dangle halfway down the shaft like a roosters wattle. I assure you however thay theyre fully functional.

With that out of the way, lets consider each testicle separately. Left testicle: you’ll notice I don’t call my testicles “balls” and lefty is the reason why; this testicle is basically a hairy pyramid. The central chamber, easily accessible by a spacious hallway once you’ve discovered the entrance is full of beautiful but non functional sperm to confuse would-be robbers. The actual “home of the mummy” (sperm) is reached via a hidden passage (Vas deferens) co ncealed behind a statue one third of the way down the hallway.
Right testicle: the right testicle is a ball all right, it’s a baseball because I’m a true blue American. My right testicle features a cork center wrapped in yarn and covered in two strips of white horsehide tightly stictched together. It is signed b y the 1989 oakland athletics who not only swept the alcs that year but beat their cross-Bay rivals the San Fransisco giants in a classic world series and thus has sigifnicant collectible value having been signed by not only mark mcguire and jose Canseco but legendary base-stealer ricky Henderson, hall of fame manager tony larussa, and the 6.9 (lol) Loma Prieta earthquake which interrupted game 3 mere minutes before it was scheduled to start


_{the signature of the loma prieta earthquake, on my balls. I hope that because it is a close-up picture it is safe for work, please don’t probate}

Ok so now, my dick. because of the size its better to talk about my penis in terms of regions rather than as a whole.t he reason I haven’t posted a picture of my coworker measuring it is that she’s still going. she had to hire a surveyor. in truth certain regions of my wang are too far away for me to have direct knowledge of them, so some of what im writing here is summarized from the journal entries of the various cock explorers who have undertaken the perilous journey up the shaft.
Beginning with the region which is over the horizon, reports differ on whether I am circumcised or not. under certain atmospheric conditions which increase the clarity of the intervening medium I sometimes fancy that i can see a slight fleshy protuberance of the corona glandis which would indicate that i am as the jews would wish me to be. At the same time the sheer manpower, to say nothing of custom-made shears which such a project would necessitate argue against it. spending no more time on this mystery: all sources agree that my dickhole is graced with a single tooth, flat and sharp like an incisor which makes my peeny, when regarded from the front look like “a drooling idiot” (journals of Juan de las Pelotas).

Moving on to regions that are within the reach of high powered binoculars, the region behind the glans but in front of my testicles is a wild windwept plain inhabited by tribes of noble, savage horsemen who have developed an immunity to the secretions of my herpetic lesions; their society, though patriarchal in the extreme is dominated by the worship of a mother-goddess whose female attendants are tasked with chanting long penile-paeans to my fruictifying member. For instance. One of them might call it her little dille, her staff of love, her quillety, her faucetin, her dandilolly. Another, her peen, her jolly kyle, her bableret, her membretoon, her quickset imp: another again, her branch of coral, her female adamant, her placket-racket, her Cyprian sceptre, her jewel for ladies. And some of the other women would give it these names,—my bunguetee, my stopple too, my bush-rusher, my gallant wimble, my pretty borer, my coney-burrow-ferret, my little piercer, my augretine, my dangling hangers, down right to it, stiff and stout, in and to, my pusher, dresser, pouting stick, my honey pipe, my pretty pillicock, linky pinky, futilletie, my lusty andouille, and crimson chitterling, my little couille bredouille, my pretty rogue, and so forth.

i have never heard these chants myself but reportedly they involve complex counterpoints and hypnotic rhythms which may give rise to strange hallucinations and sudden rages when paired with a psychoactive liquor the horsemen brew from the residue of my seminal fluids.

The final region of my dick is a jungle of lush hair, home to over 700 unique species of birds and insect, three kinds of tree frog, and a rare giant panda. The thicket is too dense for human habitation, unbroken except for the clearings around the horny pustules that erupt from the base which I call “fairy rings” because they glow in the dark, and except for one small clear-cut space I maintain near the pubis, upon which I have built a shack for the caretaker of my penis.
The role of the caretaker is to provide for the livestock and maintain the machinery necessary to pump their blood into my dick during erectile events. given the immense girth and reach of my dick, the loss of bloodflow to other parts of my body would kill me every time I get a stiffy, so a series of biometric sensors have been rigged up to provide early warning in case of tumescence. When the alarm goes off, the caretaker starts the machines which drain the sheep, cattle, and pigs of their blood and transfuse my woody with the life essence of animals. A dorsal drainage canal run subcutaneously down the length of my dick releases the excess blood once arousal has dissipated.

Obviously theres a lot more I could say about my dick but I’m over my word count as it is. I hope that you understand why there haven’t been any pictures yet (my coworker entered the hairy region several days and has not retuned) , and why I cant take them myself (do not own camera with panorama mode or sufficient zoom). Sincerely yours ein cooler typ

dogcrash truther posted:

Zen Dudeism posted:

I don't know why I do this. I go into a dick thread and someone claims they will post their goober. In my mind, I am all like, "Yeah.. yeah! Post it! I wanna see it!", but then it doesn't happen and for the next three hours I sit in silent disappointment, wondering why, exactly, I wanted to see some random internet stranger's donger.

dogcrash truther posted:

joke_explainer posted:

holy poo poo its like a ring world of dick

halfway through I was like 'I really underestimated this guy, this dude is hilarious' but then it turned out it was dogcrash so of course its funny.

dogcrash truther posted:

Literally The Worst posted:

i hope OP posts his dick

bog pixie posted:

your av...its so cute....

drilldo squirt posted:

Someone draw me a dick based on all those words I'm not reading.

Ein cooler Typ posted:

hello my name is ein cooler typ and it has come to my attention that some of you are interested in knowing more about my dick. lets begin with the testicles. some people think the testicles are not technically part of the dick and I can respect that but in my case the testicles literally are part of the dick, they do not hand separately from the taintspace behind the shaft but in fact dangle halfway down the shaft like a roosters wattle. I assure you however thay theyre fully functional.

With that out of the way, lets consider each testicle separately. Left testicle: you’ll notice I don’t call my testicles “balls” and lefty is the reason why; this testicle is basically a hairy pyramid. The central chamber, easily accessible by a spacious hallway once you’ve discovered the entrance is full of beautiful but non functional sperm to confuse would-be robbers. The actual “home of the mummy” (sperm) is reached via a hidden passage (Vas deferens) co ncealed behind a statue one third of the way down the hallway.
Right testicle: the right testicle is a ball all right, it’s a baseball because I’m a true blue American. My right testicle features a cork center wrapped in yarn and covered in two strips of white horsehide tightly stictched together. It is signed b y the 1989 oakland athletics who not only swept the alcs that year but beat their cross-Bay rivals the San Fransisco giants in a classic world series and thus has sigifnicant collectible value having been signed by not only mark mcguire and jose Canseco but legendary base-stealer ricky Henderson, hall of fame manager tony larussa, and the 6.9 (lol) Loma Prieta earthquake which interrupted game 3 mere minutes before it was scheduled to start


_{the signature of the loma prieta earthquake, on my balls. I hope that because it is a close-up picture it is safe for work, please don’t probate}

Ok so now, my dick. because of the size its better to talk about my penis in terms of regions rather than as a whole.t he reason I haven’t posted a picture of my coworker measuring it is that she’s still going. she had to hire a surveyor. in truth certain regions of my wang are too far away for me to have direct knowledge of them, so some of what im writing here is summarized from the journal entries of the various cock explorers who have undertaken the perilous journey up the shaft.
Beginning with the region which is over the horizon, reports differ on whether I am circumcised or not. under certain atmospheric conditions which increase the clarity of the intervening medium I sometimes fancy that i can see a slight fleshy protuberance of the corona glandis which would indicate that i am as the jews would wish me to be. At the same time the sheer manpower, to say nothing of custom-made shears which such a project would necessitate argue against it. spending no more time on this mystery: all sources agree that my dickhole is graced with a single tooth, flat and sharp like an incisor which makes my peeny, when regarded from the front look like “a drooling idiot” (journals of Juan de las Pelotas).

Moving on to regions that are within the reach of high powered binoculars, the region behind the glans but in front of my testicles is a wild windwept plain inhabited by tribes of noble, savage horsemen who have developed an immunity to the secretions of my herpetic lesions; their society, though patriarchal in the extreme is dominated by the worship of a mother-goddess whose female attendants are tasked with chanting long penile-paeans to my fruictifying member. For instance. One of them might call it her little dille, her staff of love, her quillety, her faucetin, her dandilolly. Another, her peen, her jolly kyle, her bableret, her membretoon, her quickset imp: another again, her branch of coral, her female adamant, her placket-racket, her Cyprian sceptre, her jewel for ladies. And some of the other women would give it these names,—my bunguetee, my stopple too, my bush-rusher, my gallant wimble, my pretty borer, my coney-burrow-ferret, my little piercer, my augretine, my dangling hangers, down right to it, stiff and stout, in and to, my pusher, dresser, pouting stick, my honey pipe, my pretty pillicock, linky pinky, futilletie, my lusty andouille, and crimson chitterling, my little couille bredouille, my pretty rogue, and so forth.

i have never heard these chants myself but reportedly they involve complex counterpoints and hypnotic rhythms which may give rise to strange hallucinations and sudden rages when paired with a psychoactive liquor the horsemen brew from the residue of my seminal fluids.

The final region of my dick is a jungle of lush hair, home to over 700 unique species of birds and insect, three kinds of tree frog, and a rare giant panda. The thicket is too dense for human habitation, unbroken except for the clearings around the horny pustules that erupt from the base which I call “fairy rings” because they glow in the dark, and except for one small clear-cut space I maintain near the pubis, upon which I have built a shack for the caretaker of my penis.
The role of the caretaker is to provide for the livestock and maintain the machinery necessary to pump their blood into my dick during erectile events. given the immense girth and reach of my dick, the loss of bloodflow to other parts of my body would kill me every time I get a stiffy, so a series of biometric sensors have been rigged up to provide early warning in case of tumescence. When the alarm goes off, the caretaker starts the machines which drain the sheep, cattle, and pigs of their blood and transfuse my woody with the life essence of animals. A dorsal drainage canal run subcutaneously down the length of my dick releases the excess blood once arousal has dissipated.

Obviously theres a lot more I could say about my dick but I’m over my word count as it is. I hope that you understand why there haven’t been any pictures yet (my coworker entered the hairy region several days and has not retuned) , and why I cant take them myself (do not own camera with panorama mode or sufficient zoom). Sincerely yours ein cooler typ