If you're well-off enough to visit an actual hospital that will care enough to disregard filing a SIN for that (if the law's still around), you're probably well-off enough to identify/fix the problem without surgery, possibly in the womb.

So... does a person with 2 penises dress to the left or to the right?

Depends on how they swing.

...

OK, even I'm ashamed of that one.

What if they're just hangin' out?

Now you should be ashamed.

Some people get shafted in the pants department.


... I'm sorry.

Well, it is a package deal.

They grab you by the balls with that one.

So long as it isn't a pissing contest.

This is a very important question for my new character, Long Shlong Silver!

And now we're getting into a contest of overcompensation...

My shwartz is bigger than yours.

Don't be dong-waving in here; you'll turn it into a sausage-fest.

When did this thread turn into a sausagefest?

>> Second sentence of this post. <<

That seems to be the long and short of it.

Maybe we should leave this thing swingin' in the breeze.

This thread gives new meaning to the term, "Mr. Johnson".

I'm having a vision...

=====

The team was meeting the Johnson at an estate just outside of the A zones. It was an old one, one of the throwbacks to the early 21st, before everything went to drek and the little guy still had more than two nuyen coins to rub together - hell, before nuyen was even mainstream.

The house was set back into the middle of the property, with a lawn that needed some landscaping and a driveway large enough to accomodate a couple cars, couple trucks that just screamed 'media mogul'. The sun was just touching the horizon, highlighting off-white Colonial-style columns, slate roofing, and the textured stone that was popular in the Southwest back during the housing booms at the Turn.

Two Trolls stared us down as we tried to gain entry, their black shirts, black pants and sunglasses translating into 'security.' Mook, got in their faces close enough to exchange the stink of soykaf and late-afternoon tacos between breaths. Mook always joked that it was the 'halitosis hail', but we didn't take it seriously until the two stepped aside to let them in. We were on the list.

Sooz mentioned that we'd know our Johnson when we saw him. Being enigmatic was one of the little prick's quirks, but he was still a damn fine fixer to get us a posh job like this. Shecky was the first one to make the connection when we were escorted onto the set.

The guy was dressed in nothin' but a red velour bathrobe with a giant 'TJ' embroidered on the breast. I could see an implant tube running alongside his artery, probably heading to his heart. Some kinda pump and resivoir to keep blood flowing to the brain. Pretty well-built for a pinkskin, he was lounging in a chair as three or four chicas fawned over him. Scantily clad as they were, I had to wonder about the temperature control system, but I wasn't too up-to-date on the situation like Shecky.

"Cal, that's The Johnson!" he said. I've never known our hacker to get that kind of idolization of a paycheck. A wiz commlink, maybe, or that high-def sim that just hit the market, but never a Johnson.

"No shit," I retorted. "Let's find out what the job is."

"No no no," he shot back. "I mean he's Quinton 'The Johnson' Bromhammer. The Prince of Porn, the Sultan of Simsense! He's the go-to if you want to break into the business! They say if a girl wants in, he gets in first!"

Our Johnson was a porn star. What the hell had Sooz gotten us into?

"Go on," I said.

"This guy's a legend!" Shecky continued. "Whenever Mook's complaining about a weird feeling in his pants after slotting one of my sims-("'Ey!" I hear Mook yell) - it's because of his special power!"

"Special power?"

"Yeah! Dude has like two or three dongs! Most brains can't handle it without a little feedback problem. That kind of power makes a guy dizzy, y'know?"

The Johnson turned in his chair and waved us over, shooing away the other 'talent' gathered at his - well, you get the idea. He sized us up and down and nodded.

"Sooz said you'd be able to handle this junk," he said. "Haven't heard much about you guys though."

I bit back a groan, since we were on business.

"Yeah, that's us. We don't crow about our size, we let others do it for us."

Johnson nodded again, leaning forward like this was some big conspiracy. This was the meat of the meet.

"I need you," he said to us, "To protect my package."

Well played, Sir. Well played.

I think I came up with the hook for this weekend's run. Mwa ha ha.

This made my day.

*coughs* In my brain, it took a life of its own.

====

We'd fumbled for it in the dead of night, Mook needing to heave it into the van with both hands, it was so heavy. Our voudoun priestess, Aunt Jemimah, exclaimed with a heady voice that she had never seen so many dongs before. That our Johnson was a collector of commemorative gold Asian currencies was just another in a long string of surprises. The subtext of it all was killing me.

It was a Hollywood story, all right. Two rivals locked in a bidding war at an overseas auction, with The Johnson coming out on top. By all rights the other guy wasn't going to take it lying down, so Johnson had to sneak his dongs into the country through the backdoor - that's where we came in.

They hit us outside El Infierno with a squad of bikers and an armored car so old it had what was left of the security company that used it, 'Garda', stenciled on the side in flaky red paint. The Johnson had warned us that folks would be coming to get their hands on his package, but from the look at the ambush set up it was evident that everyone on the local 'net knew about it and wanted to get a taste.

Shecky was down for the count, having been jacked into the local 'net to give us intel on what was coming for us. Mook was trapped under all the dongs, and it was going to take him a few minutes to work his way out. It was up to AJ and I to stall them until help could arrive.

A limo pulled up across from what was left of our van as we crawled out. A deformed Elf stepped out of the car, hunched over and constantly rubbing his hands like he was preparing for something magnificent. He was joined by about a dozen specimens of brainless muscle, the kind that couldn't spell 'dong', let alone know what it was.

The goons leveled weapons at us, and the Elf spoke.

"I want the dongs," he rasped. "All of them."

I was convinced that this was the worst night in the history of the shadows.

Please finish this one. Can't breathe, here.

This thread has officially gone commando.

The pornstar name for hte thread is Gwain Commando.

This is going to be the greatest bar story never told.

===


We pulled up to the drop-off point in a hijacked limousine amidst a throng of people. Word really had gotten out that we had the dongs - all of them. There were fewer now as we got out of the car. Shecky was nursing a nasty concussion from the crash, Mook broke his arm and lost his favorite MMG, and AJ was sporting a black eye and a bloody nose from getting smacked in the face with one of The Johnson's dongs. I had enough cuts on me from one of the Elf's razorboys that it looked like I'd gotten the raw end of it in a Tiajuana cockfight. But we still came out on top, and the Elf was left hanging in the breeze.

A mighty bellow parted the crowd before us. We could hear The Johnson shouting as he came out of the house, still in his bathrobe and being trailed by his retinue. I could count another three or four bubbly beach-blonde heads in the group- it was like they were reproducing like rabbits in there.

I was going to kill Sooz for this later.

"Stand aside, my boys gotta breathe!" he shouted, muscling his way through and getting the crowd to give us some space. Inside the limo were two large strongboxes filled with coins, one of them open to show the lustre of gold.

A hush rippled through the crowd as the glitter of Johnson's dongs caused all conversation to cease. The sight of 'em caused a silence so great you could hear a pin drop.

"They're beautiful," I could hear one of the blondes say. "I just want to rub them all over my face!"

"You'll get the chance," Johnson replied as he wired our payment over. "I'll have the girls polish all these off - they don't mind the mess."

The crowd moved in to help handle Johnson's special delivery. They were dumped into bulging sacks that they heaved inside to be cleaned and polished, all set for display. He pulled me aside as the focus left us.

"I gotta know," he said. "Didja give it to The Elf?"

"Yeah," I replied. "We gave it to 'im real good. Mook got the best piece of all of us, though."

"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes a-glitter. "What'd he do?"

"See, Mook's claim to fame is he hits harder 'n a mule can kick. He calls it his 'Donkey Punch.'"

The Johnson startled the crowd with his braying laugh, and he thumped me on the back. He yelled, "Leave a couple of these for my delivery guys! And quit playin' with 'em so much or they'll make you go blind!"


That's why I've got a picture of The Johnson on my wall, and why you don't polish gold in directed light.

Not going to lie, I laughed so hard at that, my stomach hurts now

See, it's not necessarily an advantage, but Deformity can add a lot of flavour to a game.

I think the thread has reached its natural conclusion now...

Foul! Improper wording! Correction below!

I think the thread has reached its climax now...

I was tempted to say that, but...

... Ah, hell. I have no excuse.

I think that's a little...premature.

Oh, come on. We have to get off the subject sometime.

For what it's worth, I hope so.

The one-liner intro theme from CSI: Miami won't get out of my head.

Blah, those were both pretty flaccid, Squiddy Attack.

Chalk it up to performance anxiety.


GAH THERE GOES THE THEME AGAIN

It's okay, it happens to lots of posters. :/ It doesn't make you less of a… whatever you are.

It's never happened before, I swear!

We can just minmax and argue until you're ready to try again, honey.

I'm sorry baby, I just-- I have a headache, baby. I'm just gonna take some asprin and go to bed.

It really isn't the length of your post that matters, it's what you do with it.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

The headache managed to suppress the thread for a week. Not bad.

I have been told that a slow, rhythmic posting style with the ability to plunge to new depths is highly preferred. Sprinkling your experience with teasers, a bit of 'dirty talk' and perhaps some verbal spankings can bring understanding to new heights for both parties.

Just be sure to shield your...arguments from contamination. Know your debate partner, and post wisely.

Dumpshock Forum's servers, now hosted from Fire Island's Meat Rack.

Does it involve meatspin as well?

Not sure, probably. I do know it does involve a big, jiggly-boob man-hug from a sweat drenched and bald Meatloaf.

What a sausage fest.

Hillshire Farms, GO MEAT!