A replay of BeachGrit's finest cartoon-penis moments!
(Editor’s note: This story first appeared in December 2014. Given its timeless material, cartoon dicks, water as quasi-ejaculate, I felt it important to bring the story to a new generation of BeachGrit readers. For those who’ve seen it before, enjoy the nostalgia of a re-run.)
As a stay at home husband who suckles from the teat of a successful wife I have certain duties regarding the maintenance of our household. The responsibilities are hardly overwhelming, but I’m not very adept at cleaning, or caring, and our home degenerates, relatively frequently, into a state approaching squalor.
My wife’s approach regarding enforcement of my husbandly duties usually takes the form of a series of passive-aggressive hints over the course of a few days, a tact that is as ineffective as it is emasculating, finally switching into outright demands that I mop the damn floor and do some fucking laundry.
Fair enough, she’s the bread winner, I have ample free time. But I just don’t like cleaning, and no amount of persuasion, in whatever form, is going to change that.
I get a pass when I have writing work. Apparently not so much when I’m creating visual art.
It was a few days ago when the missus strolled into our cozy little two bedroom and surveyed the filth in which we live.
“What the fuck, Rory? I thought you were going to clean?”
“I know, sorry, I was busy working all day.”
“Oh, what did you write?”
“Nothing, I was making art.”
“What do you mean, art?”
“Here you go.”
“This is just a bunch of dicks. You spent eight hours drawing fucking dicks?”
“Well, twelve. I started last night.”
“This isn’t fucking work.”
“Yes it is, it’s art.”
“How the fuck is this art?”
“See, you know it’s…”
“No, no, give me a second… It’s satire.”
“No it isn’t. It’s just a bunch of dicks and it’s copyright infringement anyway. You can’t use it for anything.”
“No, satire is protected. I’m making a statement.”
“No you fucking aren’t. You’re just drawing dicks. You’re going to get sued.”
“That’d actually be pretty cool, if I got sued for drawing dicks on pro surfers.”
“No, it wouldn’t be fucking cool.”
“No, don’t you see, I’m making a statement about the absurdity of taking surfing so seriously. It’s nothing more than playing in the ocean but it’s been turned into this super serious industry that generates millions of dollars. By putting dicks in their hands I’m illuminating the ridiculous nature of pro surfing as a whole.”
“You’re just making this up as you go along. They’re going to send you a cease and desist.”
“Yeah, but then I get to write about how the ASP is going after me for drawing dicks. Oh! I could title it, ‘Why is the industry so scared of my cocks?’ That’d be awesome!”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re going to get sued.”
“No, look, I’ll just come up with some clever little intro showing how it’s satire and I’ll be fine.”
“Fuck… I’ve had a long day. Just do what you’re gonna do and let’s talk about something else. And do some fucking laundry tomorrow, okay?”
“I promise I will.”