We went out to karaoke, one night, and to do karaoke, you usually have to be drunk. Unless you're a good singer, in which case being drunk is just a nice bonus. We were all very drunk, regardless of our level of singing talent, and talk turned, as talk usually does when you're very drunk and happy, to sex. It's easier, of course, to talk about sex when you're three sheets to the wind and can blame every embarrassing thing that comes out of your mouth on the highball glass filled to the top with beautiful vodka. The sex talk came around, after some meandering, to talking dirty in bed, which ended up becoming a conversation about the very worst thing anyone had ever said in bed to us.

I am very disappointed to report that I don't entirely remember my friends' stories. I know, however, that they were terrible, and painfully hilarious in the way that only something wretched and awful and embarrassing can be, in retrospect. I kind of wish I didn't remember my own story, because it still makes me cringe, 15 years later, when I think about it.
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We hate to break it to you schmucks (and we mean schmuck in the most loving, Yiddish-for-penis way): Size matters. There, we said it. But in the immortal words of Einstein (and no doubt he was talking about skin flutes), it's all relative. What's a perfectly shaped cuke to one person is a disappointing pig-in-a-blanket to another and an overwhelming meat loaf to yet another.
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