At first glance, mah’ penis don’t seem all that extraordinary. He’s a third-rate student, a sec’nd-rate fencer, a huge fan o’ college football and a even huger fan o’ vagina. He loves his ma and pa and someday he hopes tuh’ make it big in Hollywood or die tryin’. Yeah, at first Tommy seems like jus’ a reg’lar guy. And that’s precisely what he wants yeh’ tuh’ believe, ’cause as he’d tell yeh’ with a smirk, he lives bah’ the same philos’phy fer’ folks as he does fer’ cooch – “I just wanna’ fit in,” he says.
‘Til now, Tommy stuck tuh’ his motto like balls on boys. Ever’body liked him, and he liked ever’body (‘cept for that David Landes fella’ who shouldn’t have tried that with braces on). He was always good fer a drink, great fer a chuckle and din’t hate nobody. I remember one time when we were passin’ some o’ them crazy hollerin’ feminists with venom in thar eyes and piss in thar mouths. Tommy was as cool as balls on ice. They were yellin’ ’bout how they wanted every man’s penis cut from the trunk, given a mighty hard thrashin’, ground intuh fertilizer and used tuh nourish seedlin’ Geraniums. ‘Stead o’ gettin’ mad and offended-like, Tommy got real curious and went up and talked tuh one o’ them demonstrators fer a stretch. Afterwards he came back real quiet, lookin’ thoughtful-like and said, “that lady sure does got a point.” Yeah, Tommy was quite a guy. Yeh might even say he was extraordinary.
One thing that Tommy could never do so good is read. He thought that books were OK only if taken in tiny doses, and anythin’ more than that would be plain ridic’lous, and liable tuh make yeh sick. When he would get tuh warnin’ me, I thought fer sure he was jus’ clownin’ ’round, but I don’t think that no more. All o’ our trouble started when he read that article ’bout circ’mcision. That article was a harb’inger o’ death, jus’ like balls on fire.
Y’see, Tommy said g’bye tuh his foreskin a long time ago, and he used tuh be real proud ’bout it. “When I stand tuh say hello tuh the ladies,” he’d announce in the shower, “thank god I don’t look like no Groundhog peepin’ out o’ mah hole. I ain’t no Groundhog, I’m a COCK and the only hole I’m inter’sted in goin’ in and out o’ sure as hell ain’t no Groundhog hole!”
But after Tommy read that sin’ster article, all o’ his charm and good-naturedness disappeared real fast. He said that it opened his “eye to the truth,” but it seems tuh me that all it did was make him bitter like balls in Guinness and sad like balls that ain’t dropped yet.
Accordin’ tuh the stuffed shirts and big-shot doctors, all that jabber ’bout the foreskin bein’ bad for yeh is nothin’ but poppy cock. It don’t cause no extra risk o’ gettin’ a infection, and it makes sex and ‘batin more fun than without it. Tuh hear this was devastatin’ fer Tommy, ’cause he felt like a cripple that’d been lied tuh.
At the beginnin’ o’ his turn fer the worse, Tommy would straggle ’bout the house, mumblin’ tuh himself and cursin’ out ever’body. When I asked him how he was doin’, he’d get real mad and make a mess o’ mah pants. That was the only time he ever did smile.
Now yeh listen tuh me, I wasn’t havin’ no picnic neither. I tried cummin’ without Tommy, but it jus’ din’t work. I was gettin’ sick o’ his whinin’, and Eric and Rickey, mah balls, were gettin’ pissed tuh. I guess ’cause he was tuh limp tuh choke in the lovin’ way, I started chokin’ him the hatin’ way, and when he yelled that I weren’t no friend o’ his, I agreed.
Since then, I’ve gotten rid o’ Tommy. It was hard tuh do, but I din’t have no other choice, and I’m glad I did it. Sure, I don’t have mah best friend ’round no more, but these days my garden keeps me busy. I’m growin’ some Tulips, some Roses and mah pers’nal favorite, Geraniums.