How to handle receiving a “Dick-Pick” like a lunatic.
Earlier this week, the unimaginable happened, my client ‘accidentally’ sent me a picture of his penis.
Apparently it wasn’t meant for me.
Too late, bitch.
I had a copy printed by a professional studio, had it framed really nicely, and had it wrapped up in a lovely flower patterned glossy-paper — after which I mailed it to his office.
With a note attached,
“Much love, you’re an inspiration to us all…”
Baffled and confused, the client replied…
“…Umm. So I received this package and it says it’s from you. Are you sure it was meant for me?”
“The art-work? Yeah…I thought you might admire it.”, I proudly proclaimed.
“Uhh…I’m not sure if it’s appropriate?”, he questioned — my taste in artwork.
“What you don’t like it? Apparently it’s from a well-known photographer…”, I studied art-history motherfucker (I didn’t — it was architecture).
“No, I mean…why’d you send it to me though?”, he questioned my sanity.
“I thought you like photographs of penises. I was just trying to be grateful…send it back if you want?”, I patronised.
“Well no…I mean. Is this some sort of prank you’re pulling? ’Cause I don’t know. I guess I appreciate the effort but I’m not sure if my office might approve of this. You know? You’re kinda putting me in a weird position here man…”, he quibbled.
“Oh right…well just sent it back then. No worries. I’ll forward it to somebody else.”, my genius solution.
“Oh no don’t do that. I’m happy to hold onto it…”, he sympathised.
“Nah it’s fine. Sorry dude, I guess I just misunderstood. I’ll have someone pick it up. I got a birthday coming up so I’ll just gift it to that person…”, I informed him.
“Uhh..dude. Seriously. It’s fine.”, he mumbled, probably frustrated.
“Alright I’ll just have another copy made then. ’Cause I’m out of ideas for birthday presents.”, I confessed.
“Dude it’s my dick. Don’t forward it to people. What the fuck is wrong with you?!”, He growled with anger and embarrassment.
“Touché”, I said in a smug manner as I hung up.
The plan did backfire, though, because I forgot I had made an extra copy of the photograph made, just in case — and now my family knows I have an unhealthy obsession with penises.
