Frrrrrankie

I have received literally hundreds of emails (0) and phone calls (1) about the Sunday post and the whole falling in love thing. While I can confirm that I did indeed meet someone (of the female gender for those of you who still think I’m gay) and developed some very strong feelings for this person over the course of six days, I don’t think I can divulge more of the situation to the entire world (or the five people who read this). Sure, I have no problems telling stories of how I crapped my pants one night or how often the newly named Frankie and I arm wrestle while watching midget porn (also known as mf-ing, masturbating furiously), but I don’t think this is the place to let my feelings out. Besides the fact that this blog is pretty much reserved for toilet humor and my drunken exploits, there are some things that I need to keep private and this would be one of them. So, for the first time ever, I’m sorry and I apologize. Oh, and while I’m at it, I’m sorry for lying to you all about how long my penis is; it’s really 7.75 inches and not 8. I thought it was ok to round up to 8 but that would be like the FA saying he’s six feet tall when he’s really 5’10”.

But I can let you in on the whole “Frankie” thing. I was out with a group of women on Thursday night. We found a bar downtown that had $1 domestic beer till 9:00 (yes, I actually ventured out from my natural habitat at the corner). We had to walk in the rain and cold and arrived at the bar at 7:30. With an hour and a half left till the special ended, can you guess what was going through my head? That’s right boys and girls; I was ready to get my beer on. Double fisting it from the get go, I plowed through the beer like it was water. At one point the bartender said something to me that sounded like “that’s your last one” as in “I’m cutting you off” and at the rate I was going I wouldn’t have been surprised. But I was mistaken; she kept on giving them to me two at a time (whew). I must have made quite the impression on my female friends as one of them bought eight beers and four mixed drinks at 8:58. I made it my personal objective to drink all the beer before it got warm. Mission accomplished.

The conversation at the table was pretty open considering who was sitting there. We talked about everything from marriage to vibrators to culture to boobies to who knows what. Sorry, my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. And then somehow the topic of conversation turned to my internationally acclaimed penis. My first reaction was to go for my phone. As you may or may not know, I have a picture of my penis on my cell phone. I have since been told that having a picture of my penis on my phone is not normal, but it’s still on there. I wisely put the phone back in my pocket much to the dismay of the group. Then one of the women asked me what its name was. I guess she thought that since I love my penis so much that I have a picture of it on my phone that I would have a name for it. On the contrary, my penis has never been named. “I’m going to name it Frankie,” she said. “Frankie?” “No, Frrrrankie.” You know how you roll your “R’s” in some languages like the “Ruffles have Ridges” commercials? Yeah, I can’t do that. My penis now has a name that I can’t even pronounce.