Dimitri’s favorite story was about the size of his dick. Here it goes —
“When God was handing out dicks, the Creator, being fair-minded, presented equal size penises to every man. But he made a mistake in the shipping process. He hung the penises on a clothesline for the taking, but immediately noticed that the shorter men had trouble reaching so high. God didn’t want to start creating man all over again, so instead, he went the easier route — he extended some of the penises to make it easier for the shorter men to grab from the clothesline. And THAT is why many of the shortest men have the biggest cocks.”
Yan found this story ridiculous, as he did most of Dimitri’s stories, and Yan didn’t shy away from telling him so. Dimitri was Yan’s best friend of seventy years; they had known each other since their days in the red wooden grade school in Kiev.
Dimitri liked a good tale, but he wasn’t a liar. He DID have the biggest dick that Yan had ever seen, noticing it first when they skipped school to go skinny-dipping in the watering hole by Vartan’s farm. It hung from his friend’s small frame like one of those giant cucumbers his mother used to buy at the Odessa Privoz Market.
Perhaps it was that extra testosterone of having such a big dick that made Dimitri so combative. Dimitri and Yan could argue about anything. And Yan loved the joy of their daily debates. The topic was irrelevant. Which wife made the best borscht? Is Obama a communist? Brooklyn or Queens? Best soccer team — Germany or Brazil? Who owned the more luxurious car? Who would have made more money if they remained back in the old Soviet Union? Most talented singer — Frank Sinatra or Anna Netrebko?
These debates could last for hours, sometimes into the night, and the spouses of Dimitri and Yan accepted their husbands as more married to each other, if not by law, then by time spent together.
On Sunday, Yan woke up early, and letting Lubov, his wife, sleep, he walked over to Dunkin’ Donuts on Main Street. He was hoping to find Dimitri waiting for him. Their weekend arguments were a sacred tradition, like going to church. He was ready to argue his dear friend about anything, anything at all.
It was Dae, the Korean owner of the store (and sometimes bookie) who told Yan the bad news. Dimitiri had a heart attack in the street early that day. His kind and argumentative best friend, the man of owned a thousand stories and the biggest dick that Yan had ever seen, was no more. Yan cried for the first time in seventy years.
That night, Yan was in the mood to argue with someone. He though of facing against Lubov, but she was too mild-mannered and would agree too easily. With Dimitri gone, he lost his opponent.
So, Yan argued with God. He told God that He had made another mistake much worse than building a clothesline too high for the shorter men to get their penises.
God had taken away Dimitri from his life.