Well, there's the very first problem right there: is the plural "peni" or "penises"? God, I just know that damn AdSense thing is going to come up with something for the enhancement of peni (I'm sticking to that for now), isn't it? I fully appreciate that the collective noun is - and rightly so - infrequently used due to each of us (men, anyway) only having one, but the fact remains that, from time to time, there is a need to speak about more than one.
For example - not that I've actually read the packaging on condoms beyond the words "ribbed", "flavoured", and "for her pleasure" - there surely must be some text on there that says something like "Not tested on animals. Or their peni." For, if they
were tested on animals (or their peni), I think the animal rights campaigners would have more than a few words to say about it. And so would I. Eurgh!
Anyway, back to the main subject - not that I actually deviated too far from it just there - and on with the beration of man's best (and sometimes worst) friend.
Peni are, frankly, rubbish. And often a nuisance. I remember when I were a lad (imagine that said in a Yorkshire-flat-cap-esque accent) and we'd have P.E. at school. More precisely: swimming. Now, there were one or two rather attractive young ladies in my year at school; young ladies who, in a swimming costume, were even more appealing to a hot-blooded young otter like myself. Wearing a pair of swimming trunks was no protection against the impending threat of an "obvious liking" for one of the aforementioned young ladies in a swimming costume; no protection whatsoever. It's like throwing a blanket over an elephant to hide it from hunters - it simply doesn't work. The only solution was to jump into the water, even if you weren't supposed to... and then face the consequences of not taking pool safety seriously.
Oh come on! I know I'm not the only one that experienced that as an adolescent. And, more than likely, a lot of the guys reading this now have had similar experiences as adults. Admit it; go on!
Next is the level of accuracy they afford us when evacuating our bladders. Now, nine times out of ten there's no problem; straight into urinal / bowl / side of the pub - for most of us, at least. But then there's the odd occasion when, for whatever reason, one misses... or the curvature of the urinal is such that splashback occurs. I've found that it tends to happen only when wearing trousers that will highlight the error - dark jeans or black trousers, no problem; light jeans or trousers, whoops-a-daisy. And it usually happens in a public toilet (a pub, let's say) where there's only a hot air hand drier between you and out-and-out ridicule. Yes, there have been times when I've found myself positioned by the hand-drier on one leg attempting to dry off an area of material on my inner thigh. All you can do is practice saying, "Watch those bloody taps, mate!" and pray no one walks in while you're standing there.
And you ladies thought you had it tough because you lose a bit of blood once a month! Pfft!
[ runs for it ]
