Greenpoint

Men Who Bring Lambs To Lunch.

March 18, 2015 — Leave a comment

Eating lamb is deplorable enough (though understandably tempting). But to bring one to lunch is absolutely contemptible. It’s worse than using your dog to troll for women–because you know the cuteness and innocence of a lamb is irresistible to all. To make matters worse for your dick, bringing the lamb to Five Leaves, the connecting hub between Williamsburg and Greenpoint a.k.a. the nexus of all dickless “men,” adds a new level of cachet to the gaping hole where your wang should be.

Chillin'

Chillin’

While, in this particular case, it was a lamb belonging to both a “man” and a woman (kind of like how a “man” and a woman were responsible for the Tonya Harding/Nancy Kerrigan “museum”) that made its way to Five Leaves, it is the “man’s” fault for agreeing to own a lamb in the first place. It would be different if you had a lamb and you were a farmer or, I don’t know, Hermes. But you’re not. You’re a Brooklyn denizen. You are not worthy of the earthliness and tenderness that a lamb represents. You’d be better suited to owning a serpent, since that’s usually what you become when you live in BK and it’s the closest thing resembling a penis you’ll ever have.

Men Who Read About Doing Things Instead of Actually Doing Them.

March 25, 2014 — Leave a comment

Reading has seen a resurgence in popularity, what with the novelty of bookstores like Spoonbill and Sugartown showcased on the Williamsburg/Greenpoint monstrosity Girls (you’re missing a dick if you’ve seen it). That being said, many men think it’s okay to 1) Simply read a book that’s not literary but “how to” oriented and 2) That reading a book on how to do something is actually going to teach you how to do it.

Ancient hipster reading.

Ancient hipster reading.

At Missing a Dick, we believe it’s important for men to understand that you should be reading real literature and that if you genuinely want to learn a trade, like blacksmithing, you should just fucking do it–hands on, balls out (’cause Christ knows you ain’t got a dick). A book cannot help you unless it’s a story about Vikings or eighteenth century courtiers.