Most men are afraid to admit that they love to soak in a bubble bath but I'm sure as hell not. I love the feeling of bubbles popping over my man titties. "I take bubble baths world, so suck my freak." Soaking my goods in a hot steamy bath is the perfect place to review the entries for my free latte contest. I plan to give equal consideration to all entries; everyone who took the time to make a guess will have an equal chance at winning. Who am I trying to fool, I don't give a rat's ass about any of these entries. The only thing I know is that tonight, I will pick the winner.

I can't help but notice that the head of my cock is peeking up through the top of the bubble bath. According to my last count, fifty people have spent a considerable amount of their free time staring at a photocopy of my balls and asshole. As I read through all of the coffee submissions I can only laugh because they actually made an effort to make a guess at what it was. I shouldn't be too hard on these turds, it's transparently apparent that most of them did give it a good old college effort. To my amazement some of these guesses are pretty creative—none of them are even close but at least they were thinking. Holy crap, this one is my favorite so far: Betty from accounting guessed that my genital masterpiece was a photocopied oil painting of the one and only, Carol Channing. I don't know what to say. Should I fell flattered or insulted?

The hot water and the bubbles are making me parched. I think I will top up my sexy libation. I love to drink wine while I am in the bath but I also have to keep up my manly persona, so I make sure to mix my gallon of five dollar red wine with a Coors Light. The flavor combination is out of this world. The flatness of the beer really takes the bite away from the ethanol aroma of the red wine. It tastes kind of like a cherry Jolly Rancher bathed in bacon grease. "Mmm… yummy. Let the good times roll."

Pulling entries out of the yellow envelope brings simple pleasure into my life but it is also morally difficult for me to swallow. I'm not good at faking anything, so this revenge mission has taken its toll on me. The stress is taxing, but man it is so much fun mocking these turds behind their backs. To my surprise each entry is more interesting then the last. This new one reads, "A bowl of wax fruit melted by a blow torch." Who the hell made this entry? I turn the piece of paper over and what do you know, it's the Dick. I submerge his entry and thoroughly wipe my ass with it before I throw it into the open toilet. "Nice try Dick, but like always, you are coming in last."

Looking down at my feet I can't help but notice that the head of my cock is peeking up through the top of the bubbles that blanket my naked body. I place my drink on the edge of the tub and raise my hips up out of the water. It's time for the naked navy to make its appearance and battle the war on boredom. "Up periscope! Let's make sure the coast is clear. I don't want anyone to sink my battleship." I love to pretend that the head of my dick is a periscope and my balls are the submarine—it gives me a real sense of ownership over my goods.

With my cock raised up out of the water and bubbles dripping off of my balls, I am able to take a front page look at my genitals. Wow, they look like they have been through a civil war. What the hell have I been doing to you guys? I know ladies love a man with scars and war wounds, but I don't think they like them centralized on a man's flesh hammer and pill sac. I really need to start taking better care of my manly parts. If I continue to keep this pace of genital debauchery up, my gear is not going to work when I need it. The law of averages states that someday even a desperate and depraved dude like me will get some form of female ass. Mental note to self: "Stop abusing your cock and take better care of your balls, you may need them for later." Enough playing around, I need to get back to business. This entry is not going to pick itself.

Nothing wrong with an up-close and perverted stare at a magnificent pair of breasts. Having to pick a winner is starting to cause me serious distress. I don't remember signing up for this kind of pressure. Maybe I should have thought this through before I constructed my testicular masterpiece. I have to choose someone. There has to be a winner. If I don't choose a winner I may have to come clean. I can't tell the entire office that they have all been duped and for the past five days they have been religiously staring at a picture of my tackle. It's not that I fear their reprisal, it's that I fear some of the women in the office may think that there is something wrong with me and not want to sit on my face in the near future. Damn, my life is complicated. Why can't I have a simple life like a blueberry farmer? All those sons of bitches have to worry about is whether or not their plants have enough water and that birds stay away from their crops. Man, what I would not give to be a blueberry farmer.

Well here it goes, I am going to stick my hand into the envelope and pull out an entry. It doesn't matter what it is or who it's from, the next entry will be the winner. All I need is a drum roll so I improvise by flopping my cock around on the top of the water like a seal being eaten by a great white shark. It's not quite the same sound as a snare drum but it's the next best thing. And the winner is…

What do you know, it's Mary. Her entry sucked. "Charcoal drawing of Santa Claus." But hey, she has a spectacular ass and maybe if I give her a coupon for a free latte she will allow me to nibble on it sometime soon. If nibbling on her ass does not pan out, and for some reason I don't think it will, I can at least get a close up look at her breasts when I hand her the prize. Nothing wrong with an up-close and perverted stare at a magnificent pair of breasts.

What do you know, the war is back on. "Periscope up!"