3 Times Your Prince Albert Piercing Saved Your Life

Little did you know that the fateful evening when you woke up from a three-day bender inside a dingy back alley tattoo-and-piercing shop that the pulsing, clearly infected Prince Albert suddenly sprouting from the tip of your cock would change the course of your life forever. This probably-surgical-grade metal ring was destined to keep you safe from future harm in ways that you never could have predicted, regardless of how much shade your buddies threw on your in the locker room or how many tubes of antibiotic cream you had to soak in while weeping like a small child.

Check out these 3 times your Prince Albert piercing saved your life.

1. That Time It Caught On The Door Of The Jump Plane

There’s really no way you could have known that the parachute you were wearing that afternoon had been packed by a disgruntled employee keen on taking revenge on his employer by way of a tragic mass murder in the sky, but then again, you didn’t know the fly on your jumpsuit was down, either. For once your completely clueless approach to life saved your ass when your Prince Albert caught on the edge of the door as you were about to join five of your co-workers in a group skydive to the grave. You’d probably feel better about this one if you hadn’t had to tell your story of survival at five different funerals in the space of one week, and then again in front of your boss with the HR lady taking notes.

2. That Time It Caught A Bullet

Wrong place, wrong time, right cock, is what the police report said after your Prince Albert deflected a bullet back at the would-be shooter who burst into you local Starbucks with a rifle and seriously poor aim. The newspapers called you a hero, but your mother called you a pervert after your Aunt Noreen emailed her the article and highlighted how many times the word ‘penis’ was used in the first 300 words.

3. That Time It Caught A Ground

Who knew that it was risky to try to repair the fuse box in your home with no electrical training whatsoever? You did. You totally knew that this was a terrible idea, yet the prospect of saving a few bucks was enough for you to take a chance that you’d flipped the right breakers and could stick that screwdriver wherever you wanted. Thankfully, the 200 amps of electric current that surged through your body within seconds of starting your ‘repair’ instantaneously discharged through your Prince Albert, leaving a burn mark on the rug, a stain in your shorts, and the lingering smell of pubic hair in your apartment that you’d have to spend the next three weeks explaining away to guests as a ‘soufflé gone wrong.’ In the dark.

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