Penis Problem

I’m not sure if it is my overactive imagination.  Perhaps it is how I am easily amused.  Maybe, it is a lack of maturity.  I know one thing for sure though… I have a penis problem.

I realized this the other day.  I was looking at three pieces of dog kibble and it hit me.  I asked a coworker, “If this represents a heart, this a bone, what is this tan piece?”


She says, “I was wondering that myself.  I think it is….”


“Huh,” I said.  I guess it did look like a chicken leg.  But… I was thinking….


Now, you can’t tell me that does not bare some resemblences to that.  I completely accept the fact that sometimes I have the mentality of a thirteen year old boy.

Should this be shocking that I found a piece of dog kibble to resemble a weiner?  No.  I am after all the same person who saw this car a week or so ago…


… and could not get over the color.  “Oh, dear.  What color is that it?”  Other ladies with me looked at it and agreed it was a hideous color.  “It is the most unusual tan color for a car.”  And then it hit me.  “Dear God, that car is penis color.”  The ladies did a double take and all agreed, indeed that was the most penis color resembling paint job they had ever seen.

I bet you are thinking that the images have to stop soon… Oh no.  I have more!

I find that usually I see inappropriate things when I can’t point them out.  The other night, me and the beau were out for dinner and I happened to glance over at a tapestry that I have looked at five hundred times.  Image

I try to nonchalantly point at the man’s thigh.  “What is that?”  The giggles were getting harder to supress by the minute.  “I’ve never seen that thing before.  Is that… his testicle peeking out behind his man skirt?”


And sure, dinner time in public is certainly an ill time to bring up genitals, but how about during a news report about a murder and the reporter’s last name is Weiner.  Oh, yes.  That is me.  “Oh holy hell, her last name is Weiner.”  Then I started pondering how hard it would be to have my last name legally changed to Weiner.

So, I’m childish at time.  One of my favorite parts of Under the Tuscan sun is about never losing your childish enthusaism.  This may not be quite what they were referencing to, but I’m going keep living the good life.  One bad weiner joke at a time.


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