Arby, the Wonder Penis
It began, as all stories of medical horror and divine irony do, in a strip mall clinic next to a vape shop.
Dr. Melanie Krieger, former dermatologist turned semi-licensed “enhancement” specialist, was three sips deep into a lukewarm Red Bull when she met Carl. Carl was 44, bald, slightly cross-eyed, and had the general demeanor of someone who thought The Joe Rogan Experience was “too intellectual.”
Carl had come in for a “confidence boost.”
“A what, exactly?” Dr. Krieger asked, eyebrow twitching.
“You know,” Carl said, winking with both eyes somehow. “A little downstairs upgrade."
Dr. Krieger, who had given up on morality sometime around the third Bitcoin crash, nodded slowly and retrieved her trusty injection gun, known around the office as “The Inflator.”
“Any allergies?”
“Only to commitment,” Carl chuckled, which Dr. Krieger took as consent.
That was the moment Arby was born.
Not technically born. More like summoned. Created. Engineered through a series of clerical mix-ups, expired hyaluronic acid, and one mislabeled vial of genetically modified bull testosterone intended for Olympic horses.
What emerged over the next forty-eight hours was not just a penis. It was Arby.
Arby had opinions. He could talk. Mostly in an aggressive Brooklyn accent. No one knew why.
“I’m walkin’ here!” he shouted one morning as Carl tried to zip up his jeans. “Don’t cram me in that denim tomb, ya cheap bastard! I’m a goddamn miracle of science! I deserve silk!”
Carl screamed. Arby screamed back. Carl screamed louder. Arby started beatboxing. And just like that, Carl was the unwilling host of the world’s first fully sentient phallus.
By Thursday, Arby had taken over Carl’s Tinder.
“Swipe left. Swipe left. Ooh! Swipe right, she’s got that dental hygienist energy I crave, baby!”
“What does that even mean, Arby?”
“It means minty and repressed. My wheelhouse.”
Carl was tired. Sleep-deprived. And visibly walking with a limp caused by Arby’s insistence on wearing tiny Air Jordans Carl had to 3D print in secret.
Then came the media attention.
It started small—local news, a few tabloids. But once TMZ ran a headline reading “Brooklyn Boner Takes Over Man’s Life,” the world took notice. By week two, Arby had an agent, a book deal, and was in talks to launch a podcast called Hard Truths.
Carl, meanwhile, was eating Cheetos on the floor of his apartment, trying to remember what inner peace felt like. Arby had bought himself a hat.
A tiny fedora.
“Chicks love a fedora,” Arby said, while Carl wept softly into a pizza box.
Things came to a head—figuratively and otherwise—when Arby was invited to speak at a TED Talk.
The topic? “Penetrating the Future: What Autonomous Genitalia Can Teach Us About Leadership.”
Carl begged him not to go.
“We’re a team, man,” Carl said. “We used to be one.”
“You were a loser before I showed up,” Arby spat. “A bald sack of broken dreams and Axe body spray. I gave you purpose!”
“You gave me a yeast infection in the shape of Staten Island,” Carl sobbed.
But Arby was already gone, catching a red-eye to Silicon Valley in a satin-lined carry-on bag.
He lasted three days.
Turns out, when you’re a free-roaming talking penis with a superiority complex and no real boundaries, things escalate fast. He cussed out Elon Musk, challenged Jordan Peterson to a duel, and tweeted something so anatomically confusing it got flagged by both Twitter and the CDC.
He was banned from TED, TikTok, and Trader Joe’s.
And just like that, the world turned on Arby.
Carl found him in a Motel 6, deflated—literally—eating Funyuns and watching reruns of Friends.
“I peaked too soon,” Arby sniffled. “I got cocky.”
“Buddy,” Carl said, “you are cocky.”
They laughed. They hugged. It was deeply uncomfortable.
They agreed to go back to the way things were. Mostly.
Carl got a job at a hardware store. Arby took up poetry.
They published a joint memoir two years later: Two Heads, One Dream.
It bombed.
But they were okay.
Because sometimes, the real miracle isn’t what science can do…
It’s what you can survive when your penis becomes a sentient narcissist with branding ambitions.
THE END.
