Rasputin's Pasty Bloated Dick

Dr. Plow was more than happy to join the expedition. He had been the point man on several forays into the unknown, so it was natural that they asked him. But the price they were willing to pay made him very uncomfortable. He’d never seen such a figure so large. That’s why he was at Dr. Springbarf’s house having a drink.
“Can you repeat that number again,” said Dr. Springbarf.
“You heard me right,” said Dr. Plow. “And they cover all expenses.”
“Unbelieveable. Do they need anyone else?”
“Why? You thinking of getting into the exploration racket?”
“For that kind of money I’ll do anything.”
“Would you cornhole Hairy Maude?”
“I would.”
“Would you cornhole Greasepit Wanda?”
“Who says I haven’t.”
“You serious? You back-doored a patient?”
“No way. Not with this dick. I would back-door her with Rasputin’s pud, maybe.”
“You would? Rasputin’s pud. You’re on.”
“What do you mean ‘I’m on’?”
The next day Dr. Plow got to his office early. His personal assistant Maude was already there.
“Good morning Dr. Plow,” said Maude. “The coffee is still brewing.”
“Good morning Maude. I need you to write a letter for me.”
“Sure. Who to?”
“Find out where Rasputin’s penis is being held.”
“Yes. He’s a Russian mystic from the 1800s. The pud is probably in Russia. When you find out where, write a letter requesting that the pud be shipped here for analytic dna testing. State that we will be able to verify that it is his penis and the usual stuff. Word it so that they know this is urgent.”
“Ok Dr. Plow. I’ll have a draft ready in ten minutes. Do you want them to send the dick here or to the laboratory?”
“My house. Why isn’t the coffee ready?”
Two weeks later Dr. Plow received a package. From the outside it looked just like his subscription to Omaha Steaks. But on the inside there was a pasty-white, bloated dick. Dr. Plow called up his buddy.
“Hello,” said Dr. Springbarf.
“Plow here. You gotta come over to my house. I got the most amazing cigars. Real Cuban.”
“I’ll be right over after I finish with this patient.”
“Sew em up and get over here.” Click.
Dr. Plow made another call.
“Hello,” said Greasepit Wanda.
“Hello Wanda, this is Dr. Plow. I need you to swing by my house to notarize some documents.”
“Oh. I’m actually very busy right now. My boyfriend’s making our anniversary dinner.”
“Trust me Wanda, this will be worth your while.”
“You’re not gonna get me over there and then have some guy with Rasputin’s dick strapped on try to cornhole me?”
“No. Of course not. Why.”
“Well that’s what happened the last time someone wanted me to notarize some documents after nine forty seven PM.”
“Shit.” Dr. Plow hung up.

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