Pools of Sorrow/Waves of Joy

Fancypance: Penis Investigator

My friends keep wanting to use me as a tool, like some sort of horrible secret agent, to find out how big guys’ dicks are.

They want me to “investigate” the 300-pound black guy who keeps offering me weed, and the 6’8 Republican on the third floor because they really just want to know who’s packing. They see it as me taking one for the team. I don’t know why we can’t share this all-important responsibility. Today, I asked them why it has to be me.

“Because this is what you’re good at.”

Evidently, this is the life I’ve created for myself. Can I get a womp womp?

Womp womp.


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