Job had meant to cut off his penis. He had actually been looking forward to this event for quite some time, and it had required the greatest of efforts to keep from doing it much sooner. He had read in Plato once where Socrates had asked or been asked or something about how it felt to be old and no longer have the constant reproductive urge. Whoever had been asked had responded something to the effect of that it had been quite like getting off of an unruly and untamed horse in exchange for a gentle and slow mule. Job had had much envy of that feeling, and it had never occurred to him that what he really should have been aiming for was his testicles rather than his penis, as they were the true seat of that unruly horse. Nevertheless, Job had jerked off into the water’s hold and at the moment of orgasm he had taken his little red Swiss army knife and sliced off that engorged organ and let it drop into the water after his seed as he began screaming in a fit of the most bizarre mix of pain and pleasure he could ever have imagined. Needless to say, the mix had quickly become a completely homogeneous solution of pain, and then horror had added itself to the mix as Job saw the geyser of blood that had been used to foster his erection shooting out trying to erect the world. In this state of idiotic disarray, Job had slipped on his own blood trying to climb down from the latter upon which he stood, ironically enough not really either on his own jism or blood, rather a day old public employee’s loogy, but Job thought it was his own blood, and this had a poetic importance for him which we’ll just leave be for right now, and fell the twelve feet down totally unprepared, and, quite unused at this point to landing on concrete as opposed to dirt, he broke his left arm in two places quite painfully. Bone jutted out in what seemed to Job a mocking sort of way just below his elbow. Now this fucking hurts, thought Job, forgetting about his cock for once.
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