Before I get on with today’s random verbal spillage put in to some kind of order and posted on the site in the name of trying to be funny, I shall say thank you to those who de-lurked and commented in the last post.  Between those telling me I am gorgeous, cute, randy and those that turned up at my house with a dozen red roses (all with the heads cut off.  What was that all about?) it was a much fun post, and great to communicate with those of you who commented for the first time along with those of you mad people who comment often.  I will do it again next time I can’t think of any original content to post and have a damn good chat with you all.  Next time I will put out some nibbles as I know how many of you are coming out to play!

So talking about nibbles, lets keep with stomachs and let’s talk about vomit.  Big white balls of whale vomity goodness.   

I learnt something today.  I learnt that wearing a pair of trousers that are a little tighter due to the being a fat git, the idea of sitting down in a jumping fashion without the rearranging of the said trouser department can reeeeeeeally sting and take the breath right out of your body.  But apart from that, I learnt that people spray vomit on themselves and other people go “ohhh you smell divine”.  You may or may not (but probably do) know this but whale vomit is used to make perfume.  Actually, sperm whale vomit.  Not sure if that makes a difference?  “Smear yourself in sperm and smell attractive to the opposite sex” is not something I would ever have thought I would be writing. 

It is just typical.  Had I known this already when I was at Sea-world and while teasing a whale, it lost it’s lunch all over me leaving me covered in a whole manor of things ranging from semi chewed fish to the arm of one of the helpers, I wouldn’t have cleaned myself.  Instead, I would have gone on a sexual rampage with my new found spare arm, safe in the knowledge that I am a sexual wildebeest to the ladies due to my pungent whale vomit smell.

So what do they do?  Have farms of whales and they feed them slightly dodgy food and a lot of alcohol to make them hurl, and then rather than flush the giant whale toilet, they scoop it out, stick it in to a bottle and put the words “Fragrance by David and Victoria Beckham” on it?  Of course, this all makes sense.  The fragrances are labelled under “DVB” which obviously doesn’t stand for David and Victoria Beckham, but actually stands for Disgusting Vomit Bottle.  (actually, the fact that their initials are VD should really be a sign to the world.  Hell, I know that every time I see them on the TV or in a newspaper it makes me itch).

Well, if they can do it and make money, in for a penny in for a pound I guess. 

I am proud to introduce the new fragrance designed and manufactured by The Wheel is Turning but the Hamster is Dead:

You can scoff.  I hear you all saying “That will never sell” and “He called it PUKE?!?!”. 

Yeah well…let me take you back to the 5th paragraph.  To the words that made no sense whatsoever of “The Fragrance by David and Victoria Beckham”.  And if anyone admits to wearing it…well…I can’t actually do anything, but I will be very upset and glad I cannot smell you.  And you are making me itch.

Prices start at 1 out of date McDonalds meal for the 200ml bottle.  Batches are made on completion of eating.

Dear reader.

I have worked out through Feedburner and stat programs that I have about 60+ regular readers.  Although not the 1.52 million readers I had planned for the site, it is still a good start for a site which doesn’t advertise.

So I am curious.  My curiosity is two fold.  Does that make it quarter fold?  Anyway.  My curiosities:

1 – Who are you?  Why not de-lurk for a post and say hi.  Introduce yourself, your site, your pets etc.  Whatever really.  I am just wondering who you are that reads what I write, and what site you yourselves may write.

2 – Well, you read it.  But what else would you like to see in a post?  Any gripes?  Anything you would change? Or even anything you particularly like?

Don’t be shy!

Sy.

Every so often someone comes along with an idea that makes something that is ordinarily bad seem that little bit easier.  While still being bad. 

An example of this is that watching the pathetic excuse for what is called “The England Football Team” was made better by the inclusion of pressing the change channel button on the pointer thing which makes the picture change while they were playing.  Instead of watching a bunch of overpaid moaners running about the pitch, I watched Teletubbies.  I enjoyed it more, and I even learnt something.  Even if that something was that it is OK to be a man and carry a handbag.  Of course, when I say “man”, I mean “purple looking thing with an Ariel sticking out of his head and a TV on his stomach…but absolutely NO way of getting the Internet on that screen, nor a slot for inserting DVD’s.  Well, none that were visible, and maybe we just shouldn’t go there.  And instead of having a solid name like Sy, he has a name like Tinky Winky.  And I don’t want you all thinking of the words Tinky Winky and Sy in the same sentence in future OK?

But let’s look a little deeper in life.  Let’s talk about being burgled.  In 8 months, my house was burgled twice. 

I was a touch annoyed. 

Well, maybe “annoyed” is not the right word, and “wanted a hammer, a blunt pencil, a noose made out of spaghetti and the person or persons who burgled me”.  Add in the words “empty room, camcorder, lots of their blood was spilt and most viewed clip on YouTube”, and I think you are closer to where I was.  It was no fun.  Why was there no fun.  It was a horrid experience that was lacking that “Yeah, but it was a giggle in the end” aspect.  Although I do now have a kick arse security system.  I call it Jeff.  Jeff is 7ft tall and beats to a pulp anyone who tries to get in to the back garden.  Lets just say I go to the shops to buy milk these days as there is a shortage of milkmen in the area now.  And people have stopped sending me bills in the post!

But what if Mr Burglar was to make it more fun?  Rather then smash and grab, he stuck around and beat me with a sausage, or maybe rubbed spices on to my naked sleeping body? (yes, this really happened.  You can read about it HERE.) 

I know what you are thinking.  “What kind of sausage?”.

Well let’s look at the sausagey possibilities that could be used in the heinous attack.  (Am I really about to open google and type in “different kinds of sausages”???  What has this site come to!)

Blood Sausage – The mess this is going to leave is going to be horrendous.  It would end up like a murder scene.  The police would walk in and the report would say “There was bloodsausage everywhere” and the newspapers would run headlines like “Man beaten with bloodsausage in bungled burglary”. Therefore this sausage is not suitable.

Wiener/Frankfurter – Too soft.  There is nothing worse then aiming your sausage at someone and giving it a damn good shake and it just falls apart half way through your first stroke because it is not firm enough.  (You have a dirty mind.  Stop it.)

Chorizo – After the burglary, the burglars leave the house and one says to the other “Yeah, you see how I beat him with me Chorizo.  That’ll teach ‘im”.  This is going to make them sound like a complete idiot, and therefore is unlikely to take off in the “tools useful to give a good sausage pounding”.  (No.  Really.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  This is serious.)

Therefore, I am dedicating the good old “British Banger”.  It is a tradition in good old Blighty.  Now, as the story I linked to earlier mentions:

The farmworkers told deputies the suspect woke them Saturday morning by rubbing spices on one of them and smacking the other with an 8-inch sausage.

According to all my ex girlfriends etc, the average British Banger is not 8 inches long, but I am sure the burglar can get creative.  Maybe tie 2 together or something.

As for the spices, I think a sprinkling of “Rosemary and Olive” will do just fine and I will end this here as this post has had more then enough “spice” to it.

So when I say I know a lot about art, I think you can safely read in to this comment with the words “He knows shag all”.  And you know…you would be right. 

My favourite artist is Salvador Dali.  I love the stuff he has done.  And by that, I mean the “art” and not the “dodgy other antics” he may have done in life.  I have a Dali painting sitting on the wall in my kitchen for instance.  It is the “Apparition of fruit dish on beach”.  This is because I don’t have a sandy beach that close to where I live, and I don’t eat fruit, so there is no fruit in my kitchen.

But enough about the stuff I like.  Lets talk about this “art” which I read about recently. 

“Avante garde artist Andy Savage” I should look up what “Avante Garde” means, but I am pretty sure it means “Self titled “artist” with no imagination who probably claims unemployment benefit, but should really work in DIY) created a “Masterpiece”.  Except when I say “Masterpiece”, I mean “huh?!”

I will try to explain with as much detail as I can what his masterpiece is. 

He wired in 2 light switches.  Two white run of the mill “go to your DIY store and buy the cheapest white light switch that you can” type switches.  In fact he admits it cost £2.50 to create and four months in the planning. 

FOUR MONTHS?  And on the 120th day Andy Savage did look back on his work and turn on a light and realise he forgot to turn the power back on.

You gotta be kidding me.  This is art?  Oh…I should mention that the light switches are in 2 different positions.  One is higher up than the other…and the higher up one controls downstairs and the lower controls upstairs.  Get it?  Clever!  Genius!  No one will ever be able to recreate such a feat!

Well in that case, I have “art” in my house.  I have a light switch which has three (count em..1..2..3) switches which control upstairs, downstairs and outside the front door.  Unlike this dude who called his “work” by the imaginatively titled “Switches”, I have called mine “Useful thing on the wall that helps me see in the dark”.  My other name for it was going to be “Alternative Carrots” but I decided against it.

But screw it.  If he can get away with it, and sadly, some idiot is going to pay him money for it, then I am getting in on the act.

I would like to offer for your perusal (and hard earned cash) the recent collection in the “Sy Works”.  Yeah, that sounds a little sci-fi, but I can assure you.  It isn’t.  So.  On with the show.

My first piece is alled “You are a mug”.

This lovely piece came to me with an egg.  An Easter egg.  Genius!  It took me a long time to decide on the cost for this item, but have agreed on £1,000,000.08

The 8p is to recover costs for electricity in creating this art piece and the many seconds it took to take it out of the cupboard and take a single photo. 

My second piece is called “Do I look like I want my damn photo taken?”

I have set the cost for this piece at £9MILLION (Open to offers).  This is for the print ONLY, and not my child, who is not up for sale.  I have many more in this set, including one other (which I forgot to upload to the server) called “The persistence of crying” which I believe has the chance to go for a lot more.  That is money, and not crying.  Although I think I may be getting this the other way round.

So there you have it.  I think you will agree that my “art” is as good, but I don’t wear stupid clothes and think I am something I am not (that often).

According to a psychologist who clearly needs to be the one laying down and not the one with the notepad drawing pictures of cats while repeating the words “…and why do you think that is?”, British children should study magic at school.

This is because it can help boost childrens self confidence.  Says a man called Dick Wiseman. 

Wise man indeed!

I am assuming it builds self confidence because as soon as someone calls you a thicky, you turn them in to a rabid ant with a hankering for cheese, thus making you feel better.  Wars will be fought with magic wands, which when a bunch of grown men wanting to kill the other bunch of grown men grab their magic wands and start waving them at each other…well…it is just an uncomfortable thought for me.  Who actually thought the way wars are fought now may actually be the better way!

So to test this theory, they sent some kids to magic school.  In this “magic school”, they learnt how to repair a rope cut in half, and a card trick.  I am sure that when leaving school and entering the real world that this will come in very very handy indeed.

I am absolutely 100% certain that when Mr (or Mrs/Miss/Ms/Dr/Master coz you know…I don’t want to come across sexist or bias or anything) Job Interviewer dude(ette?) says the words “So tell me Mr Mouse.  Why do you think you are the right person for the job?”, that you leaning over and cutting his tie in half and then taking a pack of cards out and saying “Find the other half of your tie!  The ace of spades!” and you then break in to an air guitar rendition of Ace of Spades and acting like Lemmy from Motorhead is going to be held against you.

Sorry.  I know this seems a bit off, and children do need to build self confidence.  But magic at school?  It only leads to a future where the news reader (who is wearing a clown outfit and making a puppy with bendy balloons) reads out:

“…and in other news, Great Britain is now knows as The Great Symondo”

This will be because the kids now have no idea what the square root of a turnip is, but boy can they make a mean balloon animal.

And when they get out of the “Harry Potter” stage and decide to get married, instead of reading their vows, they will take the wedding rings, turn to the audience and do the magic rings trick.

And just what the hell will happen the first night in the marital bed?  “oh it was magical.  He started by sawing me in half with a plastic hacksaw and then we played snap!”

Granted, this vision of the future sounds like a giggle.  I am just not seeing it as the way forward as we will disappear off of the planet in a generation.  My idea of a post apocalypse world does not include a ghost town where instead of a tumbleweed rolling on by, a balloon giraffe slowly creeps along the road in the breeze.

 Should you feel the need, you can read about the whole magic school thing HERE.

I guess what I am trying to say, is that I am a touch BORED.  When I say touch, I mean I have a hand the size of one of those comedy foam hands which I am using to touch, so I am very very bored.  Why am I bored?  Do you even care?  Well let me explain in 600 words or less.

It is Saturday.  I am at work.  It is sunny outside.  I cannot leave my desk.

Hmm.  Did that in less then 20 words.  Well, I may as well use up a few more.

OK, I CAN leave my desk, but I can’t.  If I do, I will go a wandering through the terminal (for the uninitiated, I work at an airport).  Nothing unusual there.  But then, there is the small issue of an airline going the way of the confident Christmas turkey who challenges the farmer to see who is the bigger man.  It was a short battle.  It took a lot longer to cook “gobbles the turkey”.

Because of said airline going kaplonk, there are news crews about.  And I have a little pass that hangs around my neck which means I am an easy target.  There is also the occasional pissed off traveller. 

All of this has screw all to do with me, but people don’t see it like that.  So I am hiding. 

I hide from the passengers normally anyway, because I am an IT man.  I am not even remotely interested on where billy can go to see the planes take off.  Or where you check in for XYZ airline.  Big signs people.  Big signs.  Follow them.  Life will become fulfilled.

But the news crews.  I don’t need that.  I don’t need them saying “Oh wow…look at that hunk!  Lets interview him about ANYTHING!”. 

OK, so that has not actually happened yet. And by “yet”, I mean “is about as likely as the words ‘Sy from The Wheel is Turning but the Hamster is Dead’ ‘Angelina Jolie’ ‘industrial sized tub of peanut butter (smooth)’ and ‘she was caught covered in, while Sy took Polaroids between mouthfulls and did the happy chicken dance’ appearing in the same sentence”.

Nope.  Instead, last night I fell asleep listening to my iPod and I think some “self confidence” album came on.  Just after the “be a better woman” album which has given me a whole new outlook on life.  An outlook I need as much as being told that the words in the previous paragraph are never going to happen. 

Boy did I ever wake up confused.  This morning I couldn’t decide if I should have my hair down, up, ponytail…just what would look good in the red t-shirt which accentuates my dark brown eyes which took me 45 minutes to choose? (not my eyes.  The t-shirt. ) All this time I didn’t even realise I shave my head and therefore there is no hair to “model”.

Of course, I still need to find out just how the self help stuff got on my iPod.  I am thinking terrible joke by my wife.  But the last laugh will be on her.  She will learn to never piss off a woman!  Or indeed a man who had a terrible mishap with the self help albums.

I should probably write about the professor who thinks all kids should go to magic school.  Maybe next time.  I need to do my nails.  Or listen to the “Be a bigger man” album.  Sponsored by Viagra I believe.

There you go. 587 words.

I was going to write a post a couple of days ago, but then I realised that we were going to get sucked in to a black hole when the reactor thingy with spinning fast things going round in circles was turned on, so didn’t waste my time.  Boy, do I ever have egg on my face now after finding out that we did indeed survive.  So I figured I should write something.

Yeah I know what you are thinking.  “Why the hell do I come to this site?”.  Well, the answer is “because it beats being on the McDonald’s diet.”

That made sense right?  Of course it does.  Think about it.  McDonald’s gives you the shits.  Reading my verbal diarreah is less painful as it doesn’t leave you feeling queasy.  Well, it does, but like one of those weird huge cinema things where you stand there and it is like you are on a rollercoaster, you can just look away or close your eyes to make it stop.  Alternatively, press and hold down the ALT key and then press F4 key now.  Something amazing will happen!

Of course, maybe McDonald’s is your thing?  Which you know…each to their own.  Some people like smearing themselves in car engine oil and calling themselves “Speedy McEngine – The fastest engine in the west” which honestly…cannot be flattering.  “Oh, so you are greased up and are fast as anything?” the young lady says to meyou.  That must have been embarrassing.  Luckily being all greased up, it was easy to speedily slide away.  I guess.  If that happened.  To someone.  Gee, that must have been harsh on them. 

Where was I?  Oh yeah… 

But some dude with either a cast iron stomach, or a death wish which just wont come true (someone isn’t trying hard enough!) has eaten 23000 Big Macs in 36 years.  23000?  That is a lot right?  I counted to 21 and that is where I lost fingers/toes/other to count, but even then I was starting to feel ill.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love junk food.  KFC, BK, WTHD…all of them.  I just cannot eat McDonald’s for safety reasons.  The safety reason is in place because every time in the past that I ate a Big Mac, I felt the need to vomit over some unsuspecting soul that desperately needs it.  Maybe a teenager.  No, not ALL teenagers, just one of the really annoying ones that cannot speak English, and that is not because he is from the amazon and has never met an English speaking person before or something, I mean one of the snot nosed idiots where I live.  In England.  Who are English.  But just cannot speak it.

Yeah, I really am going somewhere with this.

There is a website setup for “Parents of teenagers” to help with the language barrier.  There is a language barrier because the average teenager cannot actually speak “English” per say.  They have their own language.  I believe it is called “Bollocks”.

In this “bollocks”, they basically change the words around and give them a new meaning.  ORRRR….is it because they are as thick as thicky the thick thing who has a diploma from the university of Thicky in Thicksville, and they just can’t actually speak “English”, so through cave paintings on the inside of their souped up cars, they learn this new language.

An example of this new language:

Breeze = Rubbish.

Of course it does.  Why wouldn’t it.  Strangely, when I looked up “Stupid dumb infantile idiot”, they didn’t relate it to the phrase “Demonic Teenager from where Sy lives”.  One rule for one with these teenagers isnt it.

According to what I read in the “dictionary”, the average teenager understands just one of the words in the following sentence:

Golly gosh old boy, I do believe I may have inadvertently dissed the young chap of the teen years.

Right.  I am off to get my hoodie on, get my skin as pale as I can and talk bollocks to some drunk kid outside.  Yeah homeboy.

Honestly…go read the dictionary.

I just watched “The World Most Funniest Animals” on TV.  This was presented by “The Worlds Most Boring Man”.   This was not because he is a genuinely uninteresting man.  In fact, I am sure if you got him drunk and told him to run about a forest shouting “I am the man from the undergrowth!  Come feel my fig leaf!”, I am fairly sure he would be game for a laugh.  But what let him down on this show? 

The script. 

Who the hell writes the script?  In fact, do they actually “write” the script, or do they just sneeze on a piece of paper and go with it?  And why the canned laughter?  Oh yes…because it is as funny as having your toenails pulled out by a beaver who is less than impressed that you just sat your big arse on his dam and broke it, in effect breaking his dreams, and destroying his home.  So armed with a pair of tweezers, Rambo McBeaverDude comes along and does you some damage.  Just like how my ears felt from listening to the “script”. 

Actually, I am pretty sure the script was indeed was a sneeze, as after watching the show, I think I started getting a head cold.

Talking of “canned laughter”, what is the idea?  You get a load of people to sit in a room fake laughing, and then they record it and put it as a backdrop to some of the most dire TV imaginable to mankind?  But why do they make sure they get someone who sounds like a hyena with diarrhea standing in a long queue for the toilet to get WAY too overexcited?

Perhaps the people that do the canned laughter also create the adverts for “chat lines”.  If you want to chat to a single girl, text ***** (Ya know, I didn’t really take note of the number, so I wont be putting them on here).  While saying this, they show a young girl.  Then they say “If you want to talk to a divorced girl, text *****.  Except now they show a woman who is about 50. 

Now.  I have been married once before being with my current (and perfect) wife.  OK, so being with my ex wife was as much fun as beating myself over the head for 2 years with a distressed carrot, but at the end of it I just didn’t look 50.  But then, I am also not female, and in an advert which I guess is why I got turned down for the part.  No matter how hard I tried to look like a not too haggard 50 year old female divorcee, I just couldn’t pull off the look.  “You are 33 years old and have a penis!” they said astounded that I went for the part.  I tried to use the “equal opportunities” act on them, but to no avail. 

Apparently I am more suited for the “Here is what I looked like AFTER I went on the Krispy Kreme Donut diet” adverts.

On Monday night, Rajendra Pachauri, who chairs the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) will make a speech that will send the audience to sleep.  Just like the name of his gang.

It is one thing to have a gang with a name that makes sense, like where I live.  We have the “It’s 3am and we are drunk so lets be a nonsensical shouting idiot” gang and the “Why would I get a job when I am an unintelligent swamp rat” gang.  Both are strangely in the 16-20 year old age range and have the exact same members.  But we don’t have a Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change gang where I live.

The reason for this?  Because unlike the 2 previous gangs that one day (I hope!) will grow up and be of some use to society, this gang makes really stupid comments like

People should consider eating less meat as a way of combating global warming

This is because

Direct emissions from meat production account for about 18% of the world’s total greenhouse gas emissions

Then they go on to talk about some crap which I don’t care for.  Something about gasses from the animal’s behind, and vehicles transporting the meat creating Greenhouse Gasses.

Lets be realistic.  This guy got turned down by a cow at some point didn’t he.  He is trying to ruin it for the rest of us because Bessie told him to go jump.

So we are supposed to eat more vegetables.  But aren’t some vegetables grown in greenhouses?  If he wants to ask a marrow out and gets turned down, I am happy to insert it somewhere the sun doesn’t shine.  And I don’t mean Uranus.

Two things that bother me about the whole eating vegetables thing is this:

1 – They are called “Greenhouse Gases”.  They are NOT called “Animal Gasses” or “Vehicle Gasses”.  What aren’t they telling us?  Why are they called “Greenhouse Gases”?  Have you ever seen a cow grown in a Greenhouse?

2 – The more vegetables people eat, the more “Gaseous” they become.  So what happens?  We stop eating meat, and we destroy the planet anyway with the side effect of eating vegetables and will have an abundance of cow’s on the planet.  It will be like Planet of the Apes, but with the Bovine population taking over and making the few humans that remain their love slaves. 

If you think I am going to let some cow with illusions of grandeur take me roughly because some dude told me to eat vegetables, he is in for one very big surprise.

The other thing here is that if we were to just eat vegetables and no of the fun stuff, we wouldn’t turn in to superhero’s. 

Yes you heard that right.  Superhero’s.  Eating a vast quantity of unhealthy foods will make you a superhero.  You will be able to stop bullets when they hit your stomach. 

What?  You need proof?  Fine!  The story is sitting HERE.  Or I can just put the following quote which says it all:

Medics found the bullet stuck in rolls of fat when it fell out during a routine examination for injuries.

This was two days after being mugged.

So there you have it.  Don’t eat meat, still don’t save the planet.   Alternatively, eat meat and become a superhero.

I know what one I am going for!  Pass the steak!

This may well be the hardest post I have ever had to write.  Not because of the content of the post, but because I wrote the first paragraph, and then one of the kittens jumped up and climbed on the keyboard.  A couple of seconds after pressing the F5 key with her paw, I am starting again. 

So I started again.  Two lines in, the little boy kitten appears.  The kitten hits F5 (along with almost every damn key on here!).  Start again.  3 lines in, kittens come back. 

No kitten managed to hit the F5 key this time, although I did think about hitting the kitten.  Not hard.  But the words “Get the hell off me!  OK, out the window you go…” were whispered with great anger, and I launched the kitten out of the window.  It is 2am and everyone is in bed, thus the whispering.  Maybe I should have tried being an angry mime.  See if they got the hint, as they sure as hell haven’t got it up until now.

Is now a bad time to mention I am on the 29th floor?  OK, so I live in a house and the said window was on the ground floor.  

No kitten was hurt in the making of this post.  The same cannot be said of the subject of the post. 

Lets set the scene:

You are sitting at home thinking about the hot date you have next week with the girl you have wanted to date for ages.  Obviously it is going to go well, and you should be hitting a home run that night, even if this involves getting very drunk and pleading with her to let you have your way with her.  (We wont mention that “your way” is to dress as a clown and she rides you like a bull in a china shop shouting “Faster Clowny FASTER!! WOOOHOOO!! while squeezing your nose which makes a comedy honking noise.)

Checking out your body, you check yourself out in the mirror.  Look at that body!  Rippling muscles.  You are gorgeous.  Oh if only someone had told you it is a novelty circus mirror.  But it doesn’t matter.  Muscles aren’t everything (are they?  Please tell me they aren’t.  My self esteem took on hell of a beating last time I read “Mens Health” when I realised that having a 32 pack is not as impressive as a 6 pack.) 

But the one “muscle” that needs to be fit and healthy is the love muscle. 

Looking down, you see twiglet.  Limp and lifeless.  Practically inverted.  This is not going to work, and you have to do something about it.  But there is only a week, and you are fresh out of kidneys to sell to help pay for an “enlargement”.  Why oh why did you spend the money from the kidney you sold on all the items in the “Novelty” section of the eBay Ending Soon section?  A frog that croaks the national anthem was just not worth £800.  And why didn’t they tell you that it croaked the Burkina Faso national anthem?  But being scared of getting negative feedback, you are left with it rather then return it to eBay user “ReturnItAndIWillBeatYouWithADessertSpoon”.

So what do you do?

Oh come on, you know the answer.  It is the most obvious answer in the world. 

You attach a nut to “twiggers” and then hang weights on there to increase the length (although pretty sure girth is as good as gone if you try this).  What could possibly go wrong!

Apparently, a lot.  Yeah I know.  I was shocked too!

The guy got a little aroused.  The last time I checked, metal doesn’t stretch.  Game over.  Off to hospital you go.

How do you explain that to the woman on reception?  “Hey-llooo.  I HAaaaAAave a nut attached to my peeeenis.”  But he explained it, and they fixed it.  By draining some blood and cutting off some skin.

Bear with me, I just need to cross my legs.

Now, they have not mentioned if he will have any long term damage.  What damage could he have?  Well, I am pretty sure he won’t be accepted to mechanics college, and he really needs to work out what his “nuts” are for.  The constant pointing from everyone in the town may also have a small issue on him.

So there you go.  It isn’t the size that matters.  It is knowing what tools are going to make you end up in hospital that counts.

You can read about the freak HERE.