| Whiskey Dick: When Jim Beam Owns Your Rod |
| Thursday, 16 August 2007 | |
 Whiskey dick is a term for two different horrific afflictions that are all together too common among men, both old and young alike. Whiskey dick is an equal opportunity syndrome, striking anyone who has drank too much brown, hard liquor and has aspirations of letting loose some cock fuel. More often than not, this takes place when you bring a young slam pig home from the bar after a long night of sucking down Jack Daniels, or Yukon Gold. That fire water makes you horny enough to stick it in an electric pencil sharpener, and your body is experiencing a desire to get yourself a face full of puss the likes of which cannot be properly explained in sobriety. But, your man piston is nothing more than a flaccid, limp man sprout. No matter what you do, or how long she licks your balls, it won't get up. Your mind is thinking that you should have a woody large enough to hang a flag from, but it just isn't happening. The cure for this is simple- don't drink so much next time, moron. Having this happen to you is embarrassing, and sometimes can stick with you for years to come. The best way to overcome this, while in the presence of the same woman, get a case of the second kind of Whiskey dick. The second, less common version of Whiskey dick comes after similar circumstances have taken place, but maybe you've drank slightly less and maybe had some red bull. This time, your purple headed monster is standing at attention like George C. Scott in the opening sequence of "Patton." He's so numb that you might as well have shot him up with Novocain before entering her honey pot. Sure, she's having a great time for the first half hour, but soon enough, her slam hole dries up like the Gobi desert, and your left with a massive erection and nothing to do with it. She can tug, jerk, suck and massage all she wants, but the inseam army is holding back in defensive formation. A good idea when this takes place is to pummel your sex mate into submission, then travel next door and see what her friends are doing. Explain your condition (without slurring your words too much) and add that you will be able to pound your throbbing spunk lance through her without shame or commitment, and if all else fails, say something like: "It's better than doing it yourself" If that doesn't work, get back into bed and continue exploring the desert. Perhaps you'll find an oasis eventually.
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