Wow. Never thought I’d be writing this but here it goes. My name is Nick, and I have big dick energy.
Well, not for too much longer I’m afraid. At least that’s what the doctors are telling me. Turns out big dick energy, or BDE, in rare cases, is fatal.
This essay is me coming to terms with my affliction, and ultimately my demise. I’m taking responsibility for it. My autopsy will almost assuredly read “undiagnosed penial tumor,” but ego is the real cancer, and hubris caused my death.
I could have sought help, I knew the damage I was doing to my back lugging around that jackhammer. I was even okay with never sustaining an erection. Because when push came to shove, I had just the biggest wiener, and that was always enough for me.
I don’t want you to think it was all peaches and gravy, though. I faced all kinds of adversity, especially in my youth. For one thing, my penis totally ruined my relationship with my father.
It got so bad, my mom had to potty train me. I’ll always be grateful to her for stepping up, but you can’t imagine the shame of being eight years old and realizing you’re the only boy who pees in the urinal sitting down.
But despite all these – let’s call them inconveniences – I never thought my hog could literally kill me. What I thought was my blessing has truly been my curse. I finally understand why Charlize Theron famously complained about how hard it is to be gorgeous. We’re like, the same.
Please, all I ask is that for those of you who knew me in life, or those just learning about me now, don’t be sad. There’s no reason to weep, no need to organize a memorial 5k in my name. I’m not a tragic story, or a cautionary tale.
At the end of the day, please remember me for who I was. Just a man. A man with a big ol’ peener.
