PD.com: Where we throw rocks at your sacred cows
When I was a little kid, my parents rented a room to a really strange guy named Frank. He was one of my father's childhood friends, and my father always felt somewhat responsible for how Frank turned out, so the rent ($20 a month) was really just a way for Frank not to feel like a tool. He eventually got his act together, got married, and moved in with his wife. But he left some stuff in his room, and my dad said I could have any of it I wanted. There were some cool knives, a few porn mags hidden in a stack of gun magazines, and most notably, a shoebox labeled "Dog Penises". There were 47 of them in the box, each one a leathery skin stretched over candle, with the wick coming out of what I assumed was the pee hole. To this day, I am not sure if they were actually dog penises, but they sure looked like the real deal. My younger brother's birthday was coming up, so I decided to keep the box of penises, so that when I made him a birthday cake, I could use them as candles.I shared a room with my brother, so I had to be careful where I hid the box. I didn't want him to find it, because that would ruin the surprise. I realized that there was a panel in the ceiling of our closet that led to the crawlspace behind the attic. It was full of insulation and there was some ducting for the air conditioners, so there was no reason for my brother (or anyone else, really) to go up there.A few days before my brother's birthday, my dad decided to take us all camping, and I forgot all about the box.When I was 14 years old, my family and I moved to California. A family friend bought our old house. Peter, one of my good friends, started living in the room I used to share with my brother. We kept in touch via email (Juno, yay!), and we talked once a month on the phone.When I was 16, I finally had the nerve to ask Meagan, a girl I liked, to a school dance. I mentioned it to Peter, and I jokingly said that I needed to go buy condoms. I admit, it was a lame joke, but Peter flipped out. The school system in Ohio had an "abstinence only" sex ed program, and I guess Peter took it pretty seriously. He told his parents that I was planning to have sex at the dance. His parents called my parents who called Meagan's parents, and needless to say, I didn't go to the dance. I was pretty mad at Peter for telling his parents, so I stopped talking to him.A few months later, Peter's mom called me. She said that Peter was really upset that I wasn't returning his emails, and that Peter only wanted what was best for me, and that I should make up with him because he really had my best interests at heart.As she was speaking to me, I had the greatest idea in the history of teenage revenge ideas. They still lived in my old house. Peter still lived in my old room. And there was probably still a fucking box of dog penises in the attic over Peter's room.So I told her that Peter telling on me wasn't why I stopped talking to him. I told her that he admitted to me that he killed neighborhood dogs and kept parts of them in the attic over his closet.What I didn't know was that starting a few months after I moved, there had been a string of pet disappearances in the neighborhood. Peter's mom freaked out. Before she hung up the phone, I heard her yell for Peter and his dad to "Get in the kitchen RIGHT NOW!!!!!"Later that night, my mom got a call from Peter's mom. I overheard my mom say, "Oh my word!" several times. When she got off the phone, she told me that Peter was responsible for killing pets in our old neighborhood, and that he was a very sick child and that I wasn't allowed to talk to him any more.I never heard from Peter again. I was given secondhand information from some people I still knew in Ohio that Peter's parents made him apologize to everyone whose pets had gone missing, and he had to see a therapist until he moved out of his parents' house. The last I heard, he had moved to Alaska.
If Luna was a furry, she'd sex humans and scream "BEASTIALITY!" at the top of her lungs at inopportune times.
I like the Luna one. She is a good one.
"Stop talking to yourself. You don't like you any better than anyone else who knows you."
I said to myself, "Cramulus, why are you clicking on the Dog Penis thread?"It's only 10 AM, but that was the best decision I've made all day.thread delivers.
EoC, you are the bane of my existence.
EoC doesn't make creepy.EoC makes creepy worse.
the afflicted persons get hold of and consume carrots even in socially quite unacceptable situations.
I think what I love the most about this is that the ending is set up to perpetuate the entire story as though in a cycle.Peter lives with the narrator later in adulthood, who feels responsible for him much the way his father did with Frank. Really it's like a never ending cycle of dog penises.
This is the best thread about dog penes that I have read this week.Well, okay, maybe second best, but it is still pretty good.