Dig Bick Manifesto (Featuring: Mustard Stain)

Part 1: Who is this I see?

As clearly stated in Federalist 70, "your balls can't fuse together or else they will become too strong. Also, if they fuse together that means you have cancer. But don't go to a doctor, because that means you're weak. Just bite it off like a man and wait for it to scab over, you fucking sissy. This is why you get no maidens."
-Alexander Hamilton.

Andrew was walking with his muscular legs spread wide so that you could see every single muscle fiber in them. Quite a domineering gait, but if that wasn't intimidating enough, with every step he took, his hips jutted out, which made his meat flap in the breeze for the whole world to see. With every motion, his ass flexed and allowed onlookers to see what a perfect ass looks like. His tattooed glistening, olive Romanian skin looked shiny in the broad daylight, which defined each of his herniated abs like a pan of buttery dinner rolls while simultaneously showing the reflection of his slippery meat in each of them. The man had spread olive oil all over his body so that he could then scrape it off and sell it in tiny bottles to 12 year old boys who hadn't started growing hair in their asscracks yet.

Andrew didn't exactly like this task, but his financial advisors had suggested he start selling his own musk as a complementary item, (similar to cologne), which would be sold in vials alongside his tutorial-book on how to become a pimp as an elementary school teacher (without anyone knowing). He had to get his sweat mixed in with this oil, though, which was the entire reason he was out in the sun amongst the commonfolk to begin with. Those losers didn't deserve to see this alpha male's body like that. But alas, a job was a job, and Andrew didn't believe in taking shortcuts on a job like this.

Andrew stopped to look at himself in the nearest store window. He was absolutely drenched in sweat, all the way from his bald head to his massive-knuckled toes.

"I'm not done yet... One more hour, c'mon, big guy." He talked quietly to himself, patting himself on the cheek. His hot breath, which smelt of liver and kale, was fogging up the window even from a few feet away. He was indeed a hot boy.

He checked the time on his phone. Noon. He groaned to himself, turned, and started walking along his path again. He continued his walk rather slowly, allowing himself to re-adjust to the rhythm of rolling his hips with every step. But while he was doing this, he saw a limo he recognized driving past. Quickly, he ditched the hip-rolling and sprinted into the nearest alley.

With his greasy back pressed against the cool brick wall, he remained motionless, watching from behind a dumpster as the limo came and went. Andrew's heart was pounding painfully fast. He didn't want to be outside anymore, and he didn't care who saw him run. All he wanted to do was to go home so that he wouldn't be seen.

...But then the sound of a lighter's flint being flicked caught him off guard. His attention was immediately drawn to a dark corner of the alley behind another dumpster, where 5 high school boys were giggling to themselves and passing around alcohol and a couple of blunts to each other. How they didn't hear him, he didn't know, but he was at least glad to see a couple of boys taking some initiative and escaping the clutches of their feminist teachers.

Feminists... A shiver ran down his spine, which made him let out a painfully audible noise when her shuttered. The teenagers' movements ceased, apart from their heads turning to look at him, their eyes the size of dinner plates. Andrew wasn't going to run, though he wanted to.

The boys recovered from their shock and stood up rather quickly, only moving to get out of the place. One of the boys in particular had caught him off guard once again. This boy.... Wasn't actually a boy. This boy was obviously a grown ass man, wearing a yellow backpack, and had an ass meatier than his own. It almost made Andrew jealous for a minute.

Andrew stared in shock as he watched the man with the yellow backpack leave with the boys. Even after they were gone, he stared for a minute and even approached where they had been sitting. On the ground was a small crumpled up dollar. Once he unraveled it, he read what had been written across it with sharpie: "Call me," and on the back there was a phone number. He couldn't believe his eyes.

The man with the yellow backpack had left his number! He couldn't believe it. Andrew admired how bold he was for defacing currency like that. The man with the yellow backpack's balls were probably massive to do felonies left and right... This man was probably exactly like him in every way. The thought made the bald man's sticky peen throb against his leg.

"Not now, Skeeter." He said quietly, flicking the head of his peen so that it would deflate and become its normal 2.001 inches again. He wanted to do this properly.... He wanted to do this at home.

He planned to eventually masturbate while standing at the top of the Empire State building, and to shoot his seed amongst the masses while helicopters circled around him with their cameras, similar to how King Kong did that a couple years ago, but that was a feat of dominance and masculinity he wasn't quite ready for yet. It was a feat of dominance that only an animal such as King King was able to do; it was primal for him... But eventually, it would be primal for Andrew too.

See-- masculinity is a mindset. Masculinity is a choice. Masculinity is a lifestyle; a lifestyle that Andrew has been living by for many years. Even as a seasoned veteran of masculinity, he was still unable to will himself and his wiener to achieve such a feat as ejaculating on the unwashed masses of peasants. Not yet. For now, he'll just choke the chicken at home.

When Andrew made his way into his massive abode, he scraped off his skin and hopped into the shower.