The Walking Penis

Once upon a time a squalling babe was born to an OCD mother. In between obsessive cleanings of her placenta-soaked vagina, she noticed that her newborn had a bad wing. “He’ll never fly,” she said. And she was right.

The boy grew up to be ridiculed by his peers. They laughed at his shambling gait and pointed at his deformed hand. “The troll’s escaped from the bell tower!” they would whisper amongst themselves (until a dim bulb suggested they forgo the whispering, considering the escapee was as deaf as a doornail). They laughed at him on the bus. They laughed at him on the steps. They laughed at him in the classroom. He could do naught but glare at the ceiling and make futile gestures with his bad wing.

As a callus gains a tougher hide with wear and tear, so does the soul. And the boy became mean. He withdrew into himself, an angry loner, in a world where even chorus-filled skies and sunlight-laden fields dotted with floating butterflies is like darkest night.

The digital age trickled into recognization, and this angry boy was overjoyed. He had found his niche in the internet, where size is only what you make of it, and anger is easily transmitted. Miserable and down-trodden in the Real, he was a giant with lead boots dancing through the fiber optic cables. The boy e-grew. He emulated e-heroes, discarding them like used toilet paper when they fell away from the schemas his mind formulated. A lifetime of shame and pain had refined his Self into an unique blend of self-attention. His online personality fissioned. Coalsced. Hardened. Solidified into a brittle ball of narcissism, which is easily and quickly stroked into life by a fusillade of derision.

Before the boy even knew it, he was a walking and talking penis; a prick with the brains of a prick. The more he was called names, the more he grew, a leviathan rolling heavily amongst winnowing minnows. If you peer carefully into the infrastructure, somewhere under the streaming bits and bytes of data, you just might glimpse a throbbing erection trolling the e-seas, searching for bigger fish to suckle life into its conceit.

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