The Crushing Adventures OF Kalashnikrotch – part 1

I’ve been arrested a lot.  I don’t break any laws, except for those everyday ones we all break. You know, jaywalking , speeding, stealing towels from hotels. Nothing serious. But I’ve been pulled over 15 times in one week before.  Bank visits are usually the worst. Also, I can’t go swimming at the YMCA because of the stares.

You see, I have a gun for a dick.  By all accounts, my dick is huge.  It’s a Kalashnikov rifle, so it’s over three feet long.  And not one of these 3rd world knock off jobbies, but a Russian vintage model.  I don’t know how it got there.  I was in a car accident two years back and I woke up with a giant gun-metal penis that shoots 7.62×39mm rounds.  Not that I shoot it much, it hurts terribly.  No one has an explanation for it. I’ve been to five doctors about it, my priest, and two gunsmiths. They all got nothing. A lot of people want to see it, which is easy because they don’t make pants that conceal AK’s very well.

Maybe in Texas they do, but not in Cincinnati.

I get a lot of emails from this one arms-dealer in Serbia.  He wants to buy my penis. I keep telling him no, I will not sell my penis.  I get approached by a lot of weirdos pretty constantly. Most people want to see me shoot it, which I suppose is a logical curiosity. This guy in my apartment building has a van with me air-brushed on the side. One girl wanted me to shoot her in the leg. She offered me $200 bucks to do it. I haven’t gotten back to her yet.

I left my girlfriend after the accident. Or the incident. When I got my AKock-47. There was a lot of tension. She said she would stay with me, but I didn’t want to accidently shoot her with my murder-cock. That’s what she called it. Murder-cock. She would say, “Alex, I don’t care if you have a murder-cock. I love you the way you are.” Her dad used it once; he called me Murder-cock by accident. I know that’s what him and his new-wife call me behind my back. I’m a pacifist. I had to move out. Murder-cock bothers me a lot.

At least the papers call me Kalashnikrotch.

Before you ask: yes I have my balls, no, you cannot see them.  They’re just hanging out on the bottom of the stock.

I’ve put on a lot of weight since I got this thing.  I can’t really run with it and like I said, swimming is out.  Also, I don’t know if the water will rust it. It’s fairly understandable that I don’t want it to rust, right?  Anyway, I don’t really get as much exercise as I used to anymore.  I lift weights more, but I can’t get proper cardio, so I’ve got a bit of a paunch on the go these days. My personal trainer quit, I don’t blame him.  Fear of the murder-cock, he said.  I think he’s been fucking my ex, too.  There aren’t a lot of fitness programs out there for the guy with a wang that can ejaculate lead for about a mile.

After I cancelled my Y membership, I tried taking my dick to the NRA meetings, but they said I needed to own a weapon, not have it surgically grafted to my pelvis, to join.  I told them that was bullshit, half the guys in here had penis issues. The guy running the show said “be that as it may, we have guidelines,” and showed me the literature stating that this was a rule.  They actually had thought of this. The NRA has a rule, written down in a real place, that you can’t be a member if your only weapon is actually your penis —even if it shoots gun bullets. I left the meeting and told them this wouldn’t have happened if Charleston Hesston was still alive. I got pulled over on the way home.  That was the first time.

They brought me to the station and had a good look. They were going to try to saw it off, said I was a danger to society. There was a pretty big freak-out in the station that day.  They had me in the garage with all these tools laid out. The chief came down and lost his mind.  Called them sadists.  He said the cops can’t go around cutting off people’s peckers no matter how far they shoot. He’s a good fella, that Chief Cardigan.  He calls me once in a while, comes over to the apartment for a beer. He won’t meet me in a bar.  Says he’s got an image to uphold.  Small kindnesses, I guess.

Anyway, that’s where I am in my life. If I still didn’t have my balls, I’d probably blow my brains out.  Not with my dick though.

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