“I’m telling you, owls do not have penises” NewWifey(tm) said.
“That’s crazy” I said. “Of course they do. They’re animals. Male animals have penises. Duh.”
She thought a moment. “What about sponges?”
“Sponges aren’t animals.”
“Of course they are!” she snapped. “We just watched an entire documentary about global warming bleaching coral reefs, remember? They specifically said sponges are animals.”
“Yeah, but they’re not real animals, like Weimaraners or Australians.”
“ALL animals are ‘real’ animals, idiot.
“OK” I said. “Fine. Sponges are animals. But that just proves my point. SpongeBob wears pants, right? He’s even named SpongeBob SquarePANTS. Why would a sponge have to wear pants if he didn’t have a penis to cover, huh? I rest my case.”
NewWifey(tm) stared at me. “You really are an idiot. I’m telling you, except for ducks, ostriches, and I think emus, birds do not have penises. That includes owls.”
“That’s crazy. They’re animals!”
She sighed. “Have it your way. Owls have penises. Go for it.” And she left the room.
I turned and looked at the poster. Time to get my certificate!
Flashback to yesterday:
NewWifey(tm) has just returned from a shopping trip. From where I’m sitting in the living room I can see her unloading groceries on the kitchen island. Out comes the usual milk, pork rinds, FlufferNutter spread, gummy squirrels, Tang, saffron, and Bon Ami (“Hasn’t scratched yet!“). But also on the island lay a long white cylinder. NewWifey(tm) picked it up and walked back to my recliner.
“I thought this might give you something to do during your enforced hiatus, between ‘Girls und Panzer’ and RedTube marathons. I can set your ice pump up at the kitchen table and you can work on it there.” And with that she unrolled the cylinder.
It was a poster, probably 3 feet by 2 feet, all covered in 70’s Op Art swirls and curly cues. The whole thing was done as a black and white line drawing, like a coloring book. Stretched across the center, from one end to the other, was a large bird of prey with wings spread and talons out.
“You got me…an owl?” I said.
“It’s a Poster Art.” she said. “You color it yourself. Coloring books and posters are really ‘in’ now, and I figure it’s something you can do one handed. I got one big enough that it should take until you get your other arm out of the cast.”
“Well, uh, thanks. But don’t I need, like, crayons or something?”
“Markers” she said, and plopped a 100-color plastic cube in my lap. “I’ll move your ice pump over to the table tomorrow whenever you want to get started.”
Ok, well, why not. It’s not like I have better things to do…or any of my buddies are gonna see me…or I’m gonna blog about it….
I rolled the owl back into a cylinder and went to bed.
This morning, then, I woke and went through my usual routine: breakfast, Percoset, RedTube, feign elbow pain to get NewWifey(tm) to do something ridiculous (this time: picking all the raisins out of a bowl of Raisin Bran, even though there’s a box of plain Bran Flakes right next to it), answer inane work email, RedTube again.
Then I headed for the kitchen.
NewWifey(tm) had spread the poster out on the table earlier, pinning the corners down with various Le Creuset items (ie: overkill as usual) and opened up the box of markers. All I had to do was sit and apply chromatic genius.
Of course, producing a work of genius requires at least a little bit of thought. Grabbing random markers and applying them willy-nilly in some riotous cacophony of nonsense would make me Jackson Pollock, but without his PR machine convincing the gullible masses that it’s “Art”. I needed a plan.
I stood back from the table and took in the entire piece. Did I want to go realistic, pulling up Google images of owls and just transcribing them? How about whimsical; producing Seussian plumage fit for a Young Adult fantasy novel? Or over-the-top absurd, like a winged Sicilian donkey cart?
As I stared and mulled though, one particular portion of the print started to garner more and more of my attention. The bottom-most tail feather of the owl did not stop at the body of the bird like all the others. It kept going up the belly, rising between the talons to a rather spear shaped head.
My god, my child’s coloring book owl has an erection!
Of course once I saw that I immediately became obsessed.
“Honey, what color are owl penises?”
“Honey, are you there? I need to know what an owl’s penis looks like.”
Silence. But a moment later NewWifey(tm) slowly leaned her head in through the kitchen door.
“Did you…did you just ask me what an owl’s penis looks like? I was in the other room and must have misheard….”
“No, you heard right” I said. “They drew an erection on my poster owl. I need to know what color it should be.” And I pointed at the avian member.
NewWifey(tm) rolled her eyes. “That’s a feather. A very fanciful interpretation of a tail feather. It gives balance to the rest of the feathers around it by being elongated. It’s not bird dick. Trust me on this.”
I stared at the picture. “Fanciful interpretation” my ass. That’s bird dick. And I said so.
More eye rolling. “Look,” she said, “Owls don’t even HAVE dicks. Most birds don’t. So why would -”
“Wait, what? ‘Owls don’t have dicks’? That’s a lie!”
And that’s when the exchange at the top of the page took place.
Ok, so here’s where we stand now:
I looked it up. NewWifey(tm) is right. Owls are dick-less (there go my reincarnation plans). I was entering uncharted coloring waters.
After very brief thought I decided ‘why not model it after the prettiest one on the planet?’*
So I dropped trou and took a dick pic.
Using Little Elvis as my template, I came up with this:
Prettttttttty sweet, huh? I tell ya, except for the feathers, the beak, the talons, and the Van Gogh “Starry Night” background, it’s like looking in a mirror!
But that’s not the best part.
This card was included in my owl’s packaging. They’ll send me a certificate attesting to how masterful my rendition of an owl penis was!
Er, except they won’t.
I’m not on any social media.
But YOU are.
I hereby give you – multiple you’s – permission to claim this priapal poster as your own should you care to follow the card’s instructions regarding the tag. Write me if you want it as an attachment. Just tell ’em “it IS finished“. Then when they mail you out your sheepskin, send me a pic so I can show it to my own penis and tell him he done good. Again.
C’mon, do it. It’ll be a hoot!
*Relevant joke: An 8 year old boy goes into his bathroom and surprises his father who is standing urinating at the toilet. “Dad, what is that?” he says, pointing. “That, my son, is a penis” says the father. “And if I might say, it’s a perfect penis.”
The next day at school the kid calls all his buddies together on the playground. “Look guys” he says, pulling his pants down. “That’s called a ‘penis’. And if it was 2 inches shorter, it’d be a perfect penis!”