“WHAT THE FUCK! WHERE’S MY DICK‽‽” you shout, holding open the waistband of the worn flannel pajama bottoms you’ve had since you were in highschool. Feeling around gingerly, there’s nothing. No blood, no stitches, and above all no dick. You’re a fucking Ken™ doll. How could this happen? Who did this to you?

You hear a clicking noise under your bed, and gingerly lean your head over the side to peek underneath. As your nervous eyes struggle to pierce the gloom, a shadow stirs and grows. Your former cock and balls scuttle towards you, trailing dust bunnies. Too many legs click and clack on the scratched laminate “wood” floor as the now autonomous wedding tackle passes your head. The piss-filled balls slosh as the floppy fucker makes its way across the room. You jerk up in fear and cower on the bed behind a Baby Yoda pillow that forms your only shield from this monstrosity that was once an integral part of your body, part of your life.

The meat-and-two-veg come to a stop in front of the shitty Ikea dresser that you and your roommate rescued from the sidewalk when you moved in. The shaft twitches, twitches, and starts to rise in time with every hammering beat of your heart. At about half-chub, the spongy head peeks out of its turtleneck and oh God, where the pee hole should be there’s an eye. AN EYE.

You scramble instinctively back into the corner, but there’s nowhere to go. The eyeball rolls wildly before coming to an abrupt stop to point right at you. A scream comes unbidden to your lips, but as you open your mouth to let it out, you feel a clawing, scrambling within your mouth as your tongue erupts in horrible pointy legs.