Dick

Dean knew he would make it. He had those odd-ball looks - handsome,
physically-adjusted face and a Newcastle accent which needed
sub-titles.
He used a lot of &;quot;fucks' talked about
&;quot;fucks&;quot; did the business and dreamt-easy; writing off
to chat-shows and tv producers; all he knew was that he wanted to be
famous for 15 minutes.
That was part of the plan. From the
day he discovered reality TV. When he leapt off the sofa, and rushed
around to matey's with ?50 for a tattoo of a wood-louse on his
dick.
The tattooist who was on crack at the time - as Dean was
- got slightly confused with a BBC programme about insects and a
Channel Four blast on Zen.
He had to bandage his dick for
three weeks and endure the nickname of Dean and his Mummy. But when he
took the bandages off Dean swore it was a dragon.
Really, it
was no surprise that he was chosen and thrown into the reality compound
armed only with a mythological winged creature- with a ton of
uneccessary appendages.
Dean had, in the past, ducked and
dived part-time as a male stripper and bragged about the louse as a
dragon with many legs - a mysterious winged thing.
The Channel
babe with a clipboard gave him his brief: &;quot;Dean, you have got
to take this seriously. There is a tremendous opportunity here.

&;quot;Look babe, even if you fuck up you will be
famous.
&;quot;And believe me babe, you will make
money.&;quot;
Sharon, the inevitable. Ad Fab Patsy wannabe,
was one hard babe.
&;quot;Listen, all we want you to do is
to fuck the big Scouse bitch. Get your dick out when you can but we'll
mask it off digitally. We can't show you with a hard on,
anyway.
&;quot;We'll say in voiceover, you are a martial
arts expert and you've got the rising dragon tattooed on your prick.
It's because you are a member of a secret sect - a sort of oriental
Masons.
 &;quot;You have such mind over matter control
that your dick can go through a house brick.
&;quot;You
never talk about it because it was part of some secret ritual
crap.
&;quot;Anyway, blah, blah we'll block it out on
screen and you can be stud of the month.
&;quot;After the
show we will pay for you to get the tattoo adjusted and you'll make the
cover of Mens Health and FHM.
&;quot;By the way we've
already talked to Suzie. Remember Suzie&;quot;
It was at
the mention of the name that he realised he was got.
By the
balls and was only mumbling the defianc of
defeat.
&;quot;Oh fuck - fuck, fuck fuck fucking fuck.
Fucking forget it,&;quot; as this winged dick legged it and hit
ground zero.
It was at that moment that Dean realised that his
private parts were not his own anymore - his dick was public
property.
It was a celebrity.