Tuesday, 2 February 2010

The Diary of John Terry’s Penis

Here at The Upright we are occasionally given insider information that the majority of publications aren’t privy to. The following was delivered to us by a source who wishes to remain unnamed, but wanted to provide us with this extract from the diary of John Terry’s penis. 
imageDear Diary,
Things haven’t been so good of late. John seems angry. His beatings have been more vicious and seem born out of frustration. I have severe chaffing and am in need of urgent medical attention. I wish there was someone other than you that I could turn to, diary, but we are so very alone.
In times past the two of us would go on adventures, plunging head-first into whatever dark, moist opening would welcome us. Lately, however, we’ve been isolated; not even allowed to penetrate the welcoming caverns of Mrs Terry. She seems angry too and I can’t help but wonder if it’s something that I’ve done.

When it’s just the two of us he tugs at me mercilessly, as if seeking the answers to the questions that have plagued him for so long through the stroking of my shaft; ‘why am i so lonely?’ , ‘why, despite my fortune and beautiful wife, do I seek reassurance in the embrace of teenage girls and my teammates’ other-halves?’ and ‘why was I cursed with such a insufferably gormless expression.’
I feel uncomfortable, as if he blames me for his indiscretions. I mean, sure, I may get a sudden rush of blood to the head now and then, but ultimately he’s still in control. All I ever wanted in life was to be the biggest dick in this relationship. I think, maybe, I wished for too much.
Perhaps I should go to the tabloids. I feel lost and confused and very, very small (like stupidly small, kind of like a Wotsit, but not orange. The same texture though - I think maybe I caught something, but that can probably wait ‘till my next entry. Now I think about it though, I reckon it was probably that girl who asked John to sponsor her ‘Swim for Haiti’. She was hot and all but there was something about her flaky landing-strip and red-raw front door that made me suspicious. Either way, I digress).

yours, Dick Terry.

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