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Jul
31

cloud nine inch

(originally posted 9/21/2014)

 

The first thought many of you had upon hearing that because of a breach of security in “the cloud,” numerous celebrities had very private pictures released for public consumption was “I wonder if there will be any Lance Manion penis pics to be had?”

I’m sorry to disappoint you. Truly.

There is nothing more I’d like to provide the penis-hungry public than a few tastefully-done pictures of my rig. No doubt I could utilize some trick photography and make it look enormous.

Well, more enormous. Enormouser.

The sad truth is that there has never been much demand for Manion penis pics. Try as I might generate interest, the penis-buying public is always looking for a more recognizable dick.

What I do have are some pretty embarrassing pictures of a younger Lance Manion trying to see if a hat made him look cool or not.

Let me explain.

Even in my youth, it was rare I would fall prey to the clammy clutches of vanity but it was also very rare that I would buy a hat.

Let me explain my explanation.

I never wore hats, nor do I now wear hats. Hats are for cowboys, farmers and douchebag hipsters. Let me just get that out there. Which is why it was odd that I fell under the spell of a big green and yellow hat perched in the front window of a trendy store at the mall. It was one of those big floppy numbers that looked like a deflated chef’s hat. The kind that would seem somehow more at home on a giant afro. I always imagine the wearer of said hat to be constantly chewing on a toothpick for some reason.

But I digress.

I bought it and smuggled it home as if I was carrying a pound of cocaine through customs (I actually considered shoving it up my ass rather than risk meeting a friend as I left the store but it was too big), eager to be alone and in front of a mirror. When I arrived, I felt a bit of a letdown. It sat on the top of my bony head like an animal that had expired there. Limp. Lifeless.

(Let me just be clear that when I say “it” was too big, I meant the hat. Not my ass.)

It became obvious that this was not a hat I could wear to just any social function. What it needed was a little action.

I distinctly remember the faraway look I got in my eyes as it dawned on me that the school dance was just days away. I looked into the mirror and added some movement to the bony head in hopes of resurrecting the hat and allowing it to become the hat I had first fell in love with. But let’s face it, all you can really do in front of mirror is a little shimmy here and there. You can’t bust out your best dance moves. I needed to see the hat in all its glory as I whirled and twirled.

What I needed was my camera.

I believe the song was Battleflag by Lo Fidelity Allstars.

I let it all out.

Does that explain it sufficiently for you?

Do you now see why I’d much rather have a few candid snapshots of my dong leak out rather than these hideous tributes to both bad fashion decisions and bad dancing? When I stumbled on them a few years back, what I should have done is burn them right there on the spot. Perhaps a priest could have said a few words to make sure they wouldn’t come back to haunt me, but their destruction should have been my top priority.

But you know how writers are. We’re vain, even about our bony heads and hideous hats. I thought that at some time down the road I might want to produce these photos as a way to make fun of myself. In my head I thought it would be funny and people would have a quick laugh and then forget all about them, so I scanned them and put them on my computer and unwittingly in “the cloud.”

I put the apostrophes around “the cloud” because much like 99% of the people on the planet, I have no idea what “the cloud” is. I assume it’s the brains behind the coming robot takeover, but I’m not sure.

What I’m hoping for now is for the robots to hurry up and exterminate everyone before they get a look at a young Lance Manion mid-twirl wearing a giant green and yellow hat. It might even be the picture that pushes the robots into action. They might be sitting on the fence about the destruction of the human race and when that picture crosses in front of their electronic eyes they will sit back and think to themselves “Well that does it. What else is there to say? I mean really. Look at that dumb bastard. It’s extermination time.”

Now I bet you wish you’d had more of an appetite for my junk, don’t you?

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