When is enough enough and I just have to admit that, although great for parties, my prehensile tail is just getting in the way?
Let’s face it, life has not been easy for me. But it is perhaps more fair to admit that life is not easy for any of us at all. Indeed I used to think I was cursed by the plight of genetic deformity as God’s cruel joke, or figured I had been an listless hobo or, transversely, an evil dictator in a past life, now cursed to this realm with an additional extremity protruding from my lower tailbone— and NOT FROM MY ANUS.
I feel like such a fool in hindsight. It all seems so clear now to me that the cheeky names they used to give me at the company barbecues like “tail boy,” “butt boner,” and “asshole” were all just cute monikers to circumvent the obvious formidable issue here at hand and to better describe the fact that I have A PREHENSILE TAIL GROWING OUT OF MY TAILBONE AND NOT MY FUCKING ANUS.
I used to be pretty good about covering it up. Used the tuck & roll technique, or a roll of duct tape to strap it to my leg got me by for a quite a while in my younger days. But that was all ruined in 7th grade gym class when Suzie Whepner grazed my arm by happenstance and gave me an erection that caused both by boner and my tail to come unglued from my legs and sprang through the soft poly-cotton mesh garment of my sweatpants. The tail, mind you, not my erection. Which was also prehensile. Neither one of us will forget that day. The whole class just stared and laughed at my then fully flummoxed tail, now swelling on account of pride and fully-filled blood sacks.
My parents didn’t help much either now that I think about it. They constructed a booth around me and set up some sort of makeshift shop to generate some revenue from tourists all around the globe to come see the “Amazing Tail Boy!” And later, encouraged me to join the circus. I declined in favor of pursuing acting at the local community college and working as a waiter by day. My parents didn’t have tails, and so— naturally, they did not empathize with the understanding of my plight or my love of the theatre. But as it turns out, lead lead actors don’t get cast by guys with secret prehensile tails and the theatre crowd is a talkative bunch. Sleep with one girl from set design and suddenly everyone says you have a tail growing OUT OF YOUR ANUS—which I assure you is no necessarily the case.
In looking for social companionship, I met some new friends in the local student center hang and quickly began the youthful ignorant bliss of my party days. Downing copious amounts of liquor and skipping classes, it appeared all was to be set right and my karma fulfilled. That was until I met Taylor “The Chip” Santorum who, to the delight of my pseudo-frat companions, found out my tail was indeed perfect for spicing up the night at one of their many amazing apartment pad parties. The Chip would dazzle in the merriment of ethers and spin into the evening forcing me to give everyone nearby “tail shots” (regular shots off of my irregular tail) and seemingly never-ending games of “Pin the second tail on the guy with the prehensile tail.” A classic game I thought. That was until I overheard two college coeds in the bathroom remarking about how although they were excited about what my prehensile tail was capable of doing in the bedroom (sex), They were even more frightened that it could potentially kill them. But not before I insisted it was capable give them multiple orgasms, as it is covered in spikes and a rare toxin that excretes from the end to cause painful, scaring sores, similar to that of a Stegosaurus, but with the obvious advantage of being able to welt my prey and/or potential mates with bloody, open legions of sores all over their body— of course.
But do not distress for my sake, for I have come to the recent conclusion upon the waking light of the sober hour that, enough is enough and I just have to admit that although great for parties, my prehensile tail is just getting in the way. I have decided to take my own life, and with it, the cursed memory of my gargantuan adjunction of an appendage, to be no longer a freakish drain on society and the tailless creatures of this world. Weep not, for walking through this life, prehensile extremity or not, has been perhaps more than I deserve. That— and I am gravelly indebted to a vicious cocaine habit.