In my broken chair, my wings are broken and so is my hair

On the ninth day of That One Thing, some electrons spinning through the void gave to me

Nine penis enlargement drug solicitations

OK, look. I appreciate your concern... however misplaced (and creepy) it is, but my Johnson is doing just fine without whatever the hell you're selling. Seriously.
It's a good size, and it does a fine job of making both me and my left hand very happy. My schlong is quite skilled at providing literally minutes of satisfaction during intimate relations between us. So please understand that I really mean it when I say I don't want to buy any of your pills.

Ok, fine... your "natural herbal supplements." I don't want any of those either. My meat and two veg do not need to be super-sized.

I hear you just fine already, but I'm still not interested. Please stop wasting my time with the emails, postcards, phone calls, accosting me on the street, armed strike teams bursting into my home, undercover Jehovah's Witnesses, and all the other friendly ways you insinuate my pork sword isn't cutting the mustard.

Great. Just great. You've got me so pissed off about this, I'm writing things like "pork sword" into Christmas blog posts. Are you fucking happy now, dickholes?
Merry Damn X-Mas, shitheels.


Eight Asshole Neighbors
Seven Hours of Dry Heaves
Six A-Capella Wookies
Five Gooo-hoooold Ringtones
Four Minutes of Jibba-Jabba
Three Absolutely Unexpected Violent Incidents
Two Turtle Dentists
And A Hastily-concieved blogging project!

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Update ad infinitum: No, I still don't want to buy your penis pills!