I wasn’t lying.
Previously, I had been sitting on a couch–perched, hunched–with the laptop on the table in front of me, teetering atop two stacks of hardcovers; now I have a desk, and it has a dick on it. I sit upright, like a big boy, and think my big boy thoughts and write my big boy words, because I have a desk now, even though there is a dick on it.
Maybe I can be a political writer, now that I have a desk, even though it has a dick on it, and write columns about something a cab driver told me, or something else I saw on TV. Maybe I could be a Russian hacker with my desk, the one with dick on it, and run rampant through the American election while none of the political writers write about it. Maybe I should write prestige television, something about technology and Muslim-Americans, on my desk, which has a dick on it.
There is a drawer I have not opened yet, and I believe it contains a Pokemon.
“A Boy and His Desk with a Dick”
A Novel By ToTD
Phallic, maybe, but it could be any number of things, anyone else care to opine?
This is what I see.
My Dick Has A Desk On It…..
That is not a dick, that is a tornado
Base of the cloud above the dick, while the tip of the dick is the tornado as it tears up another town in kansas. Various speckles in the air, are pieces of tin from roofs, some chickens, and of course a cow.
my old desk dick
does an arabesquique
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shVTtFqJb4U
Perhaps it’s a desk demon emerging to offer up some poetic inspiration for another Interstitial Chapter.
http://i.imgur.com/7xcPFAb.gif
YOU’RETHEFUCKINGDEVILHOWDIDYOUDOTHAT