I understand that limericks are easy to remember and fun to share with your friends. I do. But at a certain point, this is my life we’re talking about. And I’ve had enough with the rumors. No. You know what, this is more than that. This is slander.
Okay, yes. Yes, I have monstrous genitalia. And yes, it is so long that if I wanted to – IF I wanted to – I could place it in my mouth. But it is an EGREGIOUS misinterpretation of the facts to imply that I do this on a regular basis, not to mention the absurd assumption that if my ear had the characteristics of the female sex organ, I would want to – well, to use your heinous language – to “fuck it.” Can you imagine the speech I had to listen to when my mother first got wind of this? She talked my ear off. No, not the one I could f-… Just shut up for a second and let me vent.
Another thing: I have a medical condition, and as such I have custom-made undergarments that provide extra support to my gargantuan, engorged testicles. I do NOT – nor have I ever – carried my balls in a bucket. That would be ridiculous. Think about it. From a purely logistical standpoint, it makes little to no sense.
Look. I’m an adult, so even though your words may hurt me, I can take it. But then you had to bring my daughter Rachel, the girl from Nantucket, into this. Every day there’s a new assault on her character, not the least of which is the rumor that she lifts her dress and offers to trade her vagina for goods and services. Jesus Christ, people, she’s eight! She’s fucking eight years old. She plays with dolls. She has a pet rabbit. Do you have any morals at all? And what’s this about her crossing the sea in a bucket? Again with the bucket! We flew Continental Airlines.
It’s one thing if you’re talking about the man from Peru. He literally fell asleep, right there in his canoe, touching his penis while dreaming of Venus. Nobody will argue with you – when he woke up, he was totally covered in goo. But me, I have a reputation to uphold. I have an honest job and I’m trying to raise a family, and your reckless gossip-mongering could destroy everything I’ve built for myself.
I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m moving to West Orange.