man walks into a bar. He’s had a hard day so he sits at the bar alone and orders a beer. Sitting in the stool next to the man is a midget. In his hand, the midget is holding his penis. It is huge. Thirteen inches easily. Probably closer to like eighteen inches, now that I think on it. The midget is just twirling his John-Thomas around and sipping a pint of Guinness. The man at the bar tries not to notice. He finishes his beer and orders another. And another. The entire time, this little-person is just swinging his massive meat-sicle about, smacking it against the bar and the stool and sipping a pint of Guinness. Still the guy tries his hardest not to look. More beer. Finally, he’s had enough. And he looks at the long schlong being twirled by the minute male.
The midget looks up at the man and says, "I see you’ve noticed me Willy."
"Well," the man responds, "it’s kinda hard not to when you’re flinging it about like that."
"Do you want one?" asks the midget.
The man is puzzled. "Pardon?" he asks.
"Do you want a Willy like mine?" The dwarf inquires, leaning closer conspiratorially. "I’m a leprechaun, you see, laddy. I have magical powers. Would you like a Willy like mine?"
The man thinks about it a moment, contemplating his own little man, he figures it can’t hurt to ask: "What would I have to do?"
"Give me pleasure," growls the leprechaun lewdly, stroking his cock and raising his eye brows seductively.
"Sorry," says the man, returning to his beer, "I don’t need one that badly."
The man finishes another beer. And another. All the while the leprechaun is fondling himself. After a short time, and several more pints of the fermented barley concoction, the man turns to the dwarf. "Alright,” he says, “I’ll do it."
The man follows his new found friend into the bathroom. There he gets on his knees and begins to fellate the midget. His concerns are soon brushed aside by a combination of alcohol and the promise of a gargantuan pecker. Then the midget asks him: "What’s yer name, laddy?"
The man replies through a mouthful of cock, "Muh name is Bwian."
"Well, Brian," continues the midget, "how old are you?"
"Ahm twen-y thix," comes the mumbled response.
"Twenty-six years old?" muses the midget, "And you still believe in leprechauns?"
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