Ladies and Gentlemen of the King Magazine reading community,

Today's tale is of a tragic nature. I know people come to this column expecting for me to make them laugh, but today, I fear that the story I am about to tell is going to bring tears to the eyes of those that read it. One of the few drawbacks of being a man, the most dominant creature the world has ever known, is that our genitals are our best friends and worst enemies at the same time. Especially when they get us in trouble. Let me tell a story which explains this perfectly. The story of a random erection that met it's untimely demise. A story of bookstore/coffeehouse pimpin gone wrong.

I was in the bookstore the other day, and while glancing at a book about oral sex, thoughts of a certain beautiful young lady gave me quite the vivid mental picture of her putting in some work on my soul pole. Naturally, I looked down and realized that I had a raging erection that could not be hidden. It was so bad, that I accidentally smacked a midget in the head with it and knocked her unconscious when she tried to walk past me. Doctors tell me that they expect her to wake up from her coma any day now, but that's neither here nor there. Get well soon, Tomeka!

I tried to think of all kinds of non-sexual stuff to get rid of it. Baseball. Cold showers. Wilford Brimley. Thundercats. Nothing seemed to work. Then, I walked around the corner to the African American Interests section and this book cover did the trick:

Not only did my boner go away...My dick actually managed to find a way to hide behind my balls and curl up in the fetal position! I'm not trying to call Oprah ugly, because lord knows that's one bridge I don't ever want to burn. I'm just saying...It was a child picture of Oprah from the 50s! Anybody that can keep a hard on with that imagery in their head needs therapy...and Jesus.

That's it.

That's the story.

A boner's demise. A miget's forehead's innocence forever lost.