Most days, I sit around licking my balls.
I read somewhere that when dames pluck their eyebrows, they grow back double thick, so I figure the more I lick, the bigger they'll get. Same goes for my dick.
Heh - with a face like mine, I gotta impress the goil mutts somehow.
Plus, it’s kinda therapeutic - like a nun amusing herself with her rosary beads.
I tell ya, I got a few games I like playing.
One is, I lick all the hairs flat over the skin. If I work my dick just right, I can make it look two people getting wed outside a church. Waggle my tongue in a series of swirls and I’ve got Errol Flynn blowing kisses at his mirror reflection - or Dean Martin's bloodshot eyes after a night out on the tequila. Throw in a little muscular flexion and hey presto: Fred ‘n’ Ginger dancin’ cheek to cheek at triple speed.
Best thing is, after a coupla hours, the skin goes all hot and baggy, so I’ll either squat down and play Monster Truck Crush Fest with a few Poocho Bisks, or thwap ‘em hard between my legs and drum up up an R&B click track I can rap along to.
Or mebbe I’ll just look at ‘em and go heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!
When I’m done, I lay down in my basket and watch ‘em cool off, lulled nice ‘n’ gently to sleep by the ambient kaleidoscope morphin’ of gorged blood vessels as the skin slowly retracts like some Hollywood superstar’s 30th face.
It don’t make a dog rich, I know - but it sure fills out the time between getting dragged round the park and scoffing all those tins of mushed horse innards.
Plus - they taste real good. Kinda like salt ‘n’ vinegar on boiled eggs.