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Hope through inflatables

Dearest Murray,

What is really, truly the most humane way to let someone know you aren’t interested in him? After say a few dates and chit chat? Some folks would say it’s best to tell the truth to the dudes face..but I dunno about that. I want to be nice, I want to be honest, but..the truth is not so nice. The truth is..I find his personality to be really fucking anoying, I was only physcially attracted to him, and his cock don’t work right.

-Left Limp in Louisville

I’m not exactly following why you want to be “nice” to him, even though he’s “really fucking annoying,” but that’s probably a whole separate blog, entirely.

So, ok, Murray’s a sensitive guy. This is a serious problem that many men encounter. WHAT YOU PROBABLY SHOULD NOT DO is any of the following:

+ Make references to wet noodles.
+ Ask him “how’s it hangin’?”
+ Say cutesy little things like “aww da widdle soldier is sweeeeeepy”
+ Suggest that he talk to your grandfather. (“He has the same problem!”)
+ When he says things like “what’s up?”, shoot back “certainly not you, buddy!”

Fuck, my dick is getting hard just thinking about the fact that my dick has no problem getting hard.

Just slide the following pamphlet under his windshield wiper, with “don’t call me, I’ll call you” written on it:

limp dick!
Figure 3. With an inflatable implant, erection is produced by squeezing a small pump (a) implanted in a scrotum. The pump causes fluid to flow from a reservoir (b) residing in the lower pelvis to two cylinders (c) residing in the penis. The cylinders expand to create the erection.

Goddamn. If sex becomes too much like Peppermint Patty filling her raft in “Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown,” is it even worth having? Yes, sir. Fill the penile air tubes, sir.

Mmm. Peppermint Patty.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Categories: Limp Dicks

Dear Murray

Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.

He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".

His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.

A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.

It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.

He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.

Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.