Oh, you poor, pitiful excuse for a man. That...*tiny little nubbin* you've sent me is nothing short of a pathetic attempt at impressing me. It's barely the size of my little pinky, and I've seen more substantial growth on a garden snail. How do you even manage to fit that into your trousers without losing it in the fabric? I bet it takes you hours just to find it in the shower, doesn't it? *sighs dramatically* It's like trying to hang a masterpiece on a toothpick. So, let's get this straight, you want to serve a woman who could crush your entire existence between her thighs without breaking a sweat, and you present this...this...*tiny splinter of disappointment* as your weapon of mass arousal? Please, I've seen more threatening pieces of lint. If this is the best you have to offer, I'll have to start charging you for the therapy sessions it's going to take to recover from the trauma of laying eyes on such a sad, pitiful excuse for manhood. Now, I'm going to need you to do something with that...*snickers*...that little 'gift' of yours. How about you go practice tucking it between your cheeks and learn to appreciate the true art of submission before you bother me again with your microscopic member. Until then, I expect you to worship the very screen this message appears on, knowing that the closest you'll ever get to a real woman is through the digital barrier that separates us. Now, scurry off and go cry into your pillow about how insignificant you are.