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Back in December, I had posted here that I wasn’t feeling great emotionally, and I wished I could just be alone with a plate of cookies for Christmas.

Last week, I had an appointment with my psychiatrist, and I was describing this feeling to him, telling him that I had been feeling very flat and a little depressed. I told him this was normal for me, but I knew I would get over it after a while.

Apparently it raises a red flag when you tell your psychiatrist you want to be alone with a plate of cookies, because he offered to increase my Wellbutrin until I was feeling better. I declined, telling him I wanted to wait it out and see if things improved within a few weeks.

He did make a joke about it – he asked, “were the cookies in the shape of Christmas trees?”


Regardless of what my p-doc thinks, I think this guy approves of my plan:


Last night, I dreamed I broke my dick.

In my dream I was, umm, pleasuring myself, when suddenly there was a loud “crack”, and most of my erect penis broke off into my hand. I was so startled that I dropped my dismembered member onto the floor, where it quickly shriveled to its normal flaccid size. I was understandably distraught. I looked at the still-aroused stump, expecting massive amounts of blood loss, but there was none. It had simply separated, like a lizard shedding its tail. By this time I had to pee, and I wasn’t sure how well that would work, so I put the wayward head on ice and prepared to go to the emergency room.

When I woke up, I had to check to make sure I was still intact (I was) so I could pee (I did). Then I thought of the song “Detachable Penis”.

I decided to post this here rather than on my Fakebook page. I think that was the right decision.