“I need your help, Doctor,” Joel said, confirming that he did, in fact, need help.
“What can I do for you?” Doctor Dickpique asked.
Joel slid a picture across the table. “I need help with this,” he said.
Doctor Dickpique picked up the printed picture and studied it. He hummed while he looked it over, taking in its nuances and textures. Joel’s dick stood hard and proud, emerging like a victorious viking from a sea of red hair that matched his gross beard. He had no problem with length, but it was awfully thin. It also appeared to be covered in freckles, and the head seemed to be crooked. “This is quite the dick pic,” he said.
“Well, what do you think?” Joel asked.
“In my professional opinion,” Doctor Dickpique said, straightening himself up as he handed the picture back to Joel, “your dick looks weird. You shouldn’t share it on social media.”
“What if a girl really likes me?” Joel asked, a look of disappointment prevalent on his face. “I have a Twitter crush, and she’d love to see it.”
“It doesn’t change how weird your dick looks,” Doctor Dickpique said. “Also, your beard looks horrible and full of germs. Trust me; I’m a doctor.”
Joel gave Doctor a Dickpique a look that told him he was still going to send the dick pic to his Twitter crush despite the negative diagnosis, folded the printed picture up, and left the office.
Doctor Dickpique put the files away and cleaned the notes off his desk between patients, reflecting on his field of expertise. Patel Dickpique graduated top of his class at Dick U in upstate New York, majoring in Phallic Aesthetics. His parents funded his education from India, where his father made his money in the same field and his mother tended to their large home.
“Your next appointment is here,” Jenny, Doctor Dickpique’s secretary, said through the intercom.
“Send him on in, Jenny,” Doctor Dickpique said. With luck, he’d be able to take an early lunch.
Jenny came in moments later, leading a slender man in his mid-thirties to the chair opposite Doctor Dickpique. He had greasy black hair and a clean-shaven face. He sat with a nervous look on his face, holding an iPad on his lap. Jenny handed him a file, the name “Keith O’Connor” across the top on the white label.
“What brings you here today, Keith?” Doctor Dickpique asked.
“I want to send my dick pic to some porno girls on Twitter,” Keith said. “I also want to make it my avi.”
“Well I can definitely help you out there,” Doctor Dickpique said. “Why don’t you show me what you’re working with.”
Keith turned on the iPad while Doctor Dickpique patiently waited. He pulled the picture up and turned the iPad. Doctor Dickpique took it from him observing the dick pic on screen. “So you want to send this to porn girls?” he asked.
“Yes,” Keith answered.
“And make this your avi as well?” Doctor Dickpique asked.
“Yes,” Keith repeated.
“I am going to recommend that you don’t,” Doctor Dickpique said.
“Why?” Keith asked.
“Your dick looks weird, Keith,” Doctor Dickpique said.
“What?!” Keith exclaimed, taken aback by Doctor Dickpique’s analysis of his dick pic. “How?”
“Fist of all: it’s bent,” Doctor Dickpique replied, turning the iPad around so Keith could see his own dick. “Some curves are all right, but never a bend like this. It’s off to the side like a boomerang, but not one anyone would want to play with. Also, your pubic hair resembles something seen on a dried up dead animal on the side of a desert highway.”
“Well that’s…” Keith said, unable to find an argument to make over his dick pic.
“Look,” Doctor Dickpique said, putting the iPad down and folding his hands in front of him. “I see a lot of dick pics. I know it’s hard to hear that you have a weird-looking dick, but I don’t sugarcoat these things. You came to me to tell you what I think of your dick pic, and I took a hippocratic oath to do just that. Again, your dick is weird, and you should keep it to yourself.”
“OK,” Keith said, taking his iPad back with a shaking hand.
“Hey,” Doctor Dickpique said softly. “It’s better to hear it from me than from some porn chick on Twitter who would retweet it around for a good laugh. Our conversation about your weirdly-bent dick will never leave this office if you don’t want it to.”
“OK,” Keith repeated. He got up and left the office, not making eye contact or offering a goodbye.
Doctor Dickpique sighed. That was the hardest part of his job, and it never got easier. Most guys thought their dicks were a sight to behold, wanting to share them with any woman they came into contact with on social media, whether they asked to see it or not. The fact that most of the guys who would share a dick pic on social media had weird-looking dicks had not occurred to them, and it was Doctor Dickpique’s job to give them the bad news.
“Got another one for you, Doctor,” Jenny said over the intercom.
“Send him in,” Doctor Dickpique said, pressing the red button on his large phone. He was still bummed about Keith’s reaction to his oddly-shaped dick, and he was sure his day wasn’t going to get much better.
Jenny entered, handing Doctor Dickpique another manilla folder. He read the name on it and placed it to the side. “How are you doing today, Todd?” He asked.
“I’m doing great,” Todd said in a gruff voice. He was a man, almost into his sixties. His shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way, and a tuft of gray, curly hair jutted out. He was beginning to go bald, and his sunglasses rested on his bald spot between his forehead and his hairline. He had a smile on his face that said he was going to be extremely proud of his dick. He was holding a folded up paper in his hands.
“What brings you in to see me?” Doctor Dickpique asked, repeating the same question he rearranged and repeated dozens of times every day.
“My dick pic,” Todd said, that creepily wide smile still on his face. “I want to send it to all the honeys who interact with me on Twitter, and I wanted you to give it a look before I did. My insurance will pick up the tab, so I figure ‘what the fuck’.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Doctor Dickpique said. “Let’s see what you have.”
Todd unfolded the paper in his hands and handed it to Doctor Dickpique. He looked at the picture on the paper. It was a picture of a less-than-four inch dick held next to a beer can. Doctor Dickpique sighed. “You want to send this to girls on Twitter?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Todd said, unable to read what was on Doctor Dickpique’s face.
“You have some girth going for you Todd, but no length,” Doctor Dickpique said.
“That’s what counts,” Todd said.
“No,” Doctor Dickpique said, “it’s only part of what counts, and I think you know that.”
“What are you trying to say?” Todd asked, the smile finally leaving his face.
“Your dick is disgustingly weird,” Doctor Dickpique said. “It looks like the stub of a normal dick. Your pubes are almost as long as your entire dick, and they are very gray. I don’t even know why you would hold it next to the beer can.”
“I did that to show off its thickness,” Todd said.
“But it’s not as thick as the beer can,” Doctor Dickpique replied. “You’re just showing that you have a stump for a dick and a can of beer in your house. It’s what’s known in my field as a ‘choad’. Also, I don’t know why it’s so discolored.”
“Come on, doc!” Todd pleaded.
“I’m sorry,” Doctor Dickpique said, folding up the paper. “Your dick is weird, and your’e too old to be sending pictures of it to anyone anyway. I can’t recommend that you share this. You have nothing to be proud of here, Todd.”
“Fuck you then!” Todd exclaimed, snatching the picture from Doctor Dickpique. “I’ve been digging wells since before you got your fancy dick degree!”
“Take some literature,” Doctor Dickpique said, taking a pamphlet from a pile on his desk and holding it out toward Todd. “There are groups for people with your condition. It might help to talk to others suffering from having weird dicks. Admitting your dick is weird is only the first step to accepting your weird dick.”
Todd slapped Doctor Dickpique’s hand, sending the pamphlet to the floor. He moved his sunglasses from over his forehead to his eyes before turning heel and marching from the office.
Doctor Dickpique ran his fingers through his hair. There were so many guys out there who wanted to show their weird dicks to people on social media, and he couldn’t get through to all of them. It was maddening that he wanted guys to stop sending pictures of their oddly shaped dicks, essentially ending his career, but it was a sacrifice he’d gladly make if he were able.
Doctor Dickpique took an deep breath and pushed the button on his intercom. “Anyone left?” he asked Jenny.
“Only one more before lunch,” Jenny replied. “I promise. Want me to bring him in?”
Doctor Dickpique thought about cancelling. How many dick pics is too many dick pics in a single day? He looked at the picture of his wife and sons. On Saturday they’d go to a baseball game and out to lunch in the city, but he had a lot of strange dicks to see before he’d be allowed that small pleasure.
“Bring him in,” Doctor Dickpique said, his mind still on his two sons. He wondered if they would grow up to have weird-looking dicks like the bulk of his patients. He wondered if they would send pictures of their dicks to random females on social media if they did (God forbid) end up with odd dicks. It was a waking nightmare that he could never quite shake.
Jenny walked into his office, breaking Doctor Dickpique’s thoughts from his family. The man behind her had a large gut in front of him, a shaved head, and a rust-colored goatee. He carried a folder of his own. “This is Ken,” Jenny said, handing Doctor Dickpique the folder containing Ken’s chart and personal information. Ken took as seat while Doctor Dickpique looked through the paper inside the folder.
“It says in your folder you want to send dick pics to your many Twitter followers,” Doctor Dickpique said, letting the folder fall to his desk. He was hoping this last meeting would end shortly. Maybe he would get lucky and actually get to asses a dick pic that wasn’t too bad, but those were few and far between.
“Yeah,” Ken said in a high-pitched voice. “I see women starring and retweeting my tweets all the time, and I want to let them know my appreciation for following me and interacting.”
“By sending them pictures of your dick,” Doctor Dickpique finished.
“I’m funny,” Ken said.
“I’m sure you are extremely funny, Ken,” Doctor Dickpique said in a monotone, matter-of-fact voice. “Let’s see this pic you plan on sending.”
Ken opened the folder and pulled out an eight by ten printed copy of his dick pic. He handed it to Doctor Dickpique.
“Oh my,” Doctor Dickpique said, taking in the photo only inches from his face.
“Impressed?” Ken asked, smiling.
The dick pic was like none Doctor Dickpique had ever seen. The uncircumcised dick was fat in the middle and thin on both ends. The pubic hair wasn’t trimmed, and it looked as wild as an overgrown weed garden. The head was a round, bulbous, pink dot at the end.
“Impressed isn’t the word,” Doctor Dickpique said. “I’m floored by this.”
“Really?” Ken asked.
“Yes,” Doctor Dickpique said. “In all my years practicing medicine and phallic aesthetics, I’ve never seen anything like this. I was trained by the top doctors in my field, learning of the right shape, girth, shaft to head ratio, and overall appearances of dicks. I even minored in pubic hair styles. But this dick pic… It’s just…”
“What?” Ken asked, eager to hear the doctor’s diagnosis.
“This is, by far, the weirdest-looking dick I have ever seen in my entire career,” Doctor Dickpique replied.
“Excuse me?” Ken said.
“Your dick is weird as fuck,” Doctor Dickpique replied. “It looks like a malformed snake that ate an apple. What is going on the middle there anyway? Did you try to blow it up like a balloon to make it bigger or something?”
“No,” Ken replied.
“Well it looks like you did,” Doctor Dickpique said. “The head looks like one of those little rubber balls at the end of an elastic string, attached to the wooden paddles you’d get in a birthday party grab bag. You know what I’m talking about, right?”
“I guess,” Ken said, not remotely enjoying his diagnosis.
“And that nest of public hair,” Doctor Dickpique said. “Ive clubbed rats that wouldn’t live in something that messy. How are the hairs growing out of the base of your shaft like that? It looks like a cactus stem.
“Needless to say, I cannot recommend you show this picture to anyone on social media. I don’t even know what would possess you to consider doing it.”
Ken stared at Doctor Dickpique, waiting for him to say something else. No words emanated from his gaping mouth as the diagnosis of his grossly weird dick swam through his mind. “That’s impossible,” was all he could mutter.
“I don’t understand how you can live with this dick and not realize how disgusting it is to look at,” Doctor Dickpique said. “I understand you’ve probably gotten used to it over the years, but I’m sure you would have had to have seen others. Didn’t you notice other dicks don’t look like the snout of an anteater that somehow snorted an entire a beehive?”
“I need to go,” Ken said, getting up from the chair and nearly stumbling over it. He was still in a daze from diagnosis. Doctor Dickpique wondered if he’d ever get over getting such dire news. There was just no hope for Ken to ever take a pic that would flatter his misshapen, deformed dick, and he pitied him for it.
“Ken,” Doctor Dickpique said softly, causing Ken to turn. “Take your picture back. I don’t want that disgusting image in my office; not even in my trashcan.”
Ken took back the printed photo of his dick and left Doctor Dickpique’s office, his head hung in shame. Doctor Dickpique sat in silence, letting the pity he felt for Ken’s dick really sink in. After a few moments of quiet reflection, he pulled out his cellphone and scrolled through the pictures.
Doctor Dickpique stared at the image on the screen of his own dick pic. A mocha-colored penis was proudly erected from a small, properly groomed garden of jet-black pubic hair. It was perfect, encompassing everything a dick pic should be. The girth to length ratio was in exquisite harmony, and it had been expertly circumcised. There were no blemishes or freckles to ruin such a picturesque dick. His wife was a very lucky woman indeed.
“Now that’s a dick pic,” Doctor Dickpique said, inhaling the conditioned office air and exhaling the stress and pity that were inside him just a moment ago. He got up from his office, put his white lab coat onto the coat-tree in the corner, and left for lunch.
There were half-price hotdogs at the Wiener Shack.