It happened on 11/04/2024. I tied my thingy to a tree near my apartment, y’know, so I could keep an eye on it. I was hoping that, during my lifetime, advancements in weenie science would allow for reattachment.

Hell, I don’t even care about sensation or functionality - I’m a simple guy. [I’ve never even talked to a woman, besides my cat, and it’s kinda nice to urinate from my anus - like a natural bidet, that cleans from within] Above all else, I just wanted my wanker back.

We were such good friends, like, we did everything together. Inseparable, or so I thought. At one point, I even considered marrying it. Unfortunately, the only state that allows for Penile Pledge is TX - but the law only allows one to wed another persons penis, and they must be a first cousin.

Im hoping Führer Trump will stay true to his promise to advance our country in the phallic fields. I see a true ally in him, what, with his microscopic ant-cock.

Alas- it’s too late for me, I’m afraid.

Last week, upon emerging from my dwelling - I was greeted by an unfathomable sight.

Still drowsily buzzing from the chemical splendor of the previous evening, i slowly staggered my way towards the penis tree: eyes fixed, mouth agape, and mind emptied.

“My wanker.” I finally managed to spurt. “Where… is… my wanker?”

It was gone. Vanished. Wanker-napped! In its place was a single carrot, gently swaying in the breeze, with a ratty scrap of copy paper stapled to it.

The torn slip read: I. O. U.

The three letters danced around my throbbing brain for several minutes - the movement was a bellow, fanning the fire that was raging within me.

Who would DO this, I wondered. The International Operations of… Uruguay? Just when I was approaching the brink of insanity from trying to crack this mysterious code, my darling, elderly neighbor approached me.

“Hey! I borrowed your little pink toy slug, I’m sorry that I didn’t check in with you first…”, she said, offering me presenting something in a white grocery bag. The handles were hastily tied into a double-knot, and the contents appeared damp with grease, sticking to the sides of the bag.

“…thanks”, i said nervously, while retrieving the bag from her outstretched hand. Curious, and grateful for any distraction from my penile crisis, my hand started tugging at the knot. “What is this thing, anyw-“,

In that moment, I learned the answer to my question, and my mouth froze mid-sentence, mid-syllable.

It was my slimy wanker. Except, it was in poor shape. There were bite marks all over the shaft, likely from a hog, or a deer. It was stretched thinner, which tore skin tissue and left purple-red splotchy areas. The inside of the bag smelled like sweaty feces, and I could see countless mites, and two housefly maggots. My cock slowly writhed in place, much like a small creature does when the sweet mercy of death draws near.

For a single, strange, fleeting moment - I imagined the inhabitants of this putrid plastic nasty-land as a tiny, happy family. My damaged dong, a beautiful single-mother, playing and caring for her two maggot offspring. Coexisting, thriving, and sharing wormy love.

A bead of sweat splattered onto the white plastic bag, yanking me from the warm bliss of my trauma response day-dream, and swiftly depositing me into my dreadful reality.

I collapsed onto the pavement and began to wail. “WHY, god, WHY?” I scream-asked the sky.

I won’t bore you with the shitty nitty gritty, but I was decimated. My soul was extinguished.

Apparently my neighbor first borrowed my knob to use as a stylus for her iPad. Turns out, it wasn’t even a touch screen, nor a tablet at all, but a dvd player. Her hubby had forgotten to purchase a gift for her, and in his crazed panic, decided that the most reasonable thing to do would be to get a cheap dvd player at Walmart, and try to pass it off as an iPad.

Surprisingly, It worked fairly well for him, for quite a while. he insisted that it required a special stylus in order to operate it properly. Her desperate search for a stylus, is what brought her to my penis; and my penis, busted and ragged, back to me.

Anyways, after it failed to work as a ‘special iPad stylus’, she was livid. Her hubby frantically tried to lie his dumbass out of it again, which pissed her off even more.

She eventually struck him across the noggin with it, several times. Unfortunately, upon her last backwards-cock (ha. Get it? Like a pistol, u know. The little hammer that you cock back? Funny. But I digress.), her Labrador mutt - who, I think may be the first mammal to survive with a complete lack of brain/neural matter - snatched it from her grasp, tearing it in the process.

Soon, the little bastard grew bored, which must be extremely easy to do, what with the empty cranium and all. Another local pest cashed in on the opportunity to play with the fleshy pink toy slug, and from there another, and another.

Anywho, I was so distraught, I began my descent into my final form: a smelly, horrifying recluse, with a side of junkie/tweaker, and a hot piece of lead for dinner. No, seriously. I couldn’t take it anymore, the grief and loss was insurmountable.

I tried to drown my demons, the whole fucking flock of em. But they learned to swim, really well actually, and one night I realized that - it was I who was drowning. Me and my crippled, mangy, infected, detached manhood.

I took my 9mm pistol, rocked the slide, wrapped my pale lips and yellow teeth around it, tasted the cold sourness of the steel, and cashed in my chips- what was left of them, anyways.

So, yeah. That’s my experience, that I thought you might benefit from. Sorry for the wait - I SWEAR, satan city has the WORST fucking internet in the known universe. shit is like porn site virus-infected dial-up. It’s incredible!

Sincerely yours, Elon musk