News & Articles

Man: Happy Valentine’s Day, darling! I wrote you a poem.

Woman: That’s so romantic! Read it to me!

Man: Okay. Ahem. “The rooster crowed, beckoning the morning mist, as I ejaculated inside the Mervyn’s saleswoman with the force of a thousand bald eagles.”

Woman: Um . . .

Man: Shit, sorry. That’s the wrong sheet of paper. That’s actually a chapter from a novel I’m writing. Do you wanna know what it’s called?

Woman: Not really.

Man: It’s called “Penis Delights”.

The man smiles and waits for praise. The woman folds her arms disapprovingly.

Man: Okay, fair enough. Not interested. That’s understandable. Let’s read the poem I wrote for you.

Woman: Yes, let’s do that.

Man: “The hole wasn’t large, but it was generous enough in depth to swallow the long, twisting string of human waste I fed it like a newborn baby.”

The woman is horrified.

Man: Damn it, that’s not it. I’m actually not sure what that’s from. I want to say it’s from a different chapter of the novel, but I don’t really remember it? It might have just been a thing I did and wrote down for posterity.

Woman: What is this novel about?

Man: It’s about penises. And delights.
Woman: Right. Are there any strong female characters in this novel?

Man: No. None at all. Not even remotely close, to be honest.

Woman: Then you should probably just read the Valentine’s Day poem you wrote for me.

Man: Right. Got it! Ask and ye shall receive. I happen to have it right here. Ahem. “Boy come on and get my rocks off. Come put a little love in my glove box. Wanna dance with no pants on? Holla.”

Woman: I don’t want to interrupt, but I’m pretty sure that’s just the lyrics to a Kesha song.

Man: Yes, but I have transferred the lyrics to a sheet of paper in a notebook I own, therefore making it a poem I wrote for you.

Woman: Do you remember five minutes ago, when I gave you YOUR gift? Remember the big screen TV?

Man: Do YOU remember five seconds ago, when I gave you YOUR gift: A fantastic poem I wrote that was later made into a song by Kesha?

Woman: I’m going to give you one hour to leave this apartment and find me a real gift. Choose very carefully, because if you come back without being absolutely positive that your gift is passable, I will smash your testicles with a hammer. Got it?

Man: Got it. Point taken.

Woman: Good.

Man: Can the gift involve something done “Gangnam Style”?

Woman: Stop and think about what you just said.

The man is deep in thought.

Woman: No. The answer is no.

Man: That is surprising. Okay, I’ll be back.

Cut to exactly one hour later. The door opens, and the man enters seemingly empty-handed.


Man: I have your gift! Are you ready?

Woman: Did you think long and hard about it? Is this the best possible gift you could give a woman?

Man: Yes and yes!

Woman: Is this something I actually want, and will look forward to using?

Man: Yes!

Woman: Does it require some sort of long-winded, idiotic explanation in order for me to understand its purpose?

Man: Yes! I mean no. I think it’s pretty straightforward.

Woman: All right. Show me what you came up with.

The man smiles and pulls down his pants.

Woman: Is that . . . a dildo taped to your crotch?

Man: Now there’s TWO items of interest down there instead of just one.

The man gives the woman a sexy wink.

Woman: To be honest, I would have been happier if you came back with the original one cut off instead.

Man: Also, I wrote you a new poem. Ahem. “Now I return to this young fellow. And the communication I have got to make is, that he has great expectations.”

Woman: That’s from a Charles Dickens book, you shitbag!

Man: I know! Dickens, right? Dick-ens? Because my pants are down. Dick! Ens! Dickens!

The woman storms out of the room and slams the door.