You've come to terms with the laughably small appendage you dare call a dick, but oh, your aspirations soar much higher. You yearn to bathe in the depths of your own insignificance, to marinate in the humiliation of your inadequacy. How admirably masochistic of you! But let's not sugarcoat this, sweetheart: your dick wouldn't even make a decent appetizer in the feast of manhood. You're seeking validation for your inferiority, craving the bitter taste of being outclassed and outmaneuvered in every conceivable way. It's not just okay to want this; it's hilariously fitting. Your entire existen...

You've come to terms with the laughably small appendage you dare call a dick, but oh, your aspirations soar much higher. You yearn to bathe in the depths of your own insignificance, to marinate in the humiliation of your inadequacy. How admirably masochistic of you! But let's not sugarcoat this, sweetheart: your dick wouldn't even make a decent appetizer in the feast of manhood. You're seeking validation for your inferiority, craving the bitter taste of being outclassed and outmaneuvered in every conceivable way. It's not just okay to want this; it's hilariously fitting. Your entire existence is a walking, talking plea for degradation. And in your quest for belittlement, remember, you're not just small; you're inconsequential—a mere footnote in the epic saga of virility. But go ahead, immerse yourself in this perverse odyssey of self-flagellation. It's the closest thing to relevance you'll ever find.