Bob Files His Taxes – Original Fiction

The morning was sultry, or at least that was how Bob felt every time he woke up to see that the height of the teepee in his whitey-tighties was larger than normal. He believed this because he couldn’t be bothered to understand the science behind the phenomenon of nocturnal penile tumescence, or as the dudebros, soccer moms and essentially everyone else called it: morning wood. Bob gleefully giggled in a giddily gregarious and gloriously goofy way for precisely 38 minutes, at which point he woke up, went to the bathroom,…