Dear Mrs. Hax

Dear Mrs. Hax:

My 13-year-old niece is tiny and has a big nose. We live in a community where a lot of teenage girls have cosmetic surgery at 16. I suggested to my brother in private that his daughter may be a candidate for this procedure. (My 19-year-old stepdaughter and my wife have had nose jobs.) My brother was deeply offended and angry over my remark. We are not talking. Was I over the line in making this suggestion in a private setting?

http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/carolyn-hax-everybodys-getting-a-nose-job-whats-the-big-deal/2015/04/28/630addfe-e841-11e4-aae1-d642717d8afa_story.html

When I was in high school, my nickname was Big Nose. (I’ve noticed that nicknames are most effective when they simply state the undeniable. ”Big Nose.” “United Assclown.” You get the picture.)

People grow into their noses. There I was, this hundred-and-twenty-five-pound fifteen-year-old with an enormous nose. I didn’t mind it. My mother told me to ignore them; they were just jealous, she said. So I would tell my detractors that they were just jealous. “Yeah right, I’m jealous of your big, fat nose. Big Nose.” I learned that the “you’re just jealous” line doesn’t actually work.

But sometimes people truly are jealous, because what I also had was an inordinately large penis. That spawned my other nickname, which was Godzilla. A long, veiny, frightful thing that stood a proud nine fat inches at a precise forty-five degree angle when aroused. It’s about as thick as my wrist. So in the locker room if I had the embarrassing misfortune to experience one of those involuntary erections that one gets at that age, people would run screaming. Me and my big nose and my big dick. Who’s laughing now?

And this is the part of the show where I invite the audience to sit quietly and wind their watches as I indulge myself in talking about my own beautiful penis while waiting for people to buy their tickets so that I can hire camera guys and writers and put on a proper show.

My ejaculate tends to be substantial, issuing forth in great, looping ropes. There are generally five or six spasms propelling each successive rope a bit further. There’s no timid leaking-out of anything. And there’s more where that came from.

I have big, egg-like nuts, too. They’re not the kind that are cooped up right next to my abdomen. They hang and sway this way and that in a hairy, loose nut sack. They’re bull balls is what they are. You can see them hang halfway down my leg in some stage photos from ten years ago, the ones where I’m wearing tan-colored trousers.

And that will be all. I trust that our esteemed Supreme Court Justices haven’t overwound their watches in their forbearance of my digression.

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I am America’s Senior Comedian. Thank you for your kind attention in this matter.

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