I’ve often wondered about the complexity of the bond that is created between two individuals. Be it in a platonic or romantic relationship, there must be so many different aspects that contribute to the attraction. Even though at times this attraction might seem so effortless and as if it were established out of thin air, there is always a lot going on behind the scenes.

I personally have a lot of requirements when it comes to finding a mate and from what I have gathered, I am not the only one. Let those requirements be superficial in nature or profound, regardless, they are a collection of characteristics that we have built from experiences we have had in the past, which we desire in a potential mate.

Wow that’s some deep sh*t.

Let’s get to the good part.

I could spend this whole article describing the personality characteristics and physical attributes that I would desire in a potential mate, and make it sound like my eHarmony profile. However, truth be told, this list is just about as valid as the Miranda rights when they were read to Jodi Arias. Completely pointless.

The only thing I care about is a large cock.

Such a controversial statement, I know.

I hear little-dicked men with SPS (Small Penis Syndrome) yelling at the atrocity of it. Also among the voices I hear little-dicked men saying that it’s not about the size it’s about using it right. Of course it is, and Megan Fox is not only hot, she’s also a talented actress. Sorry to burst your bubble, but not once after a f*ck night did my girlfriends ask me how the man used his dick. The first question was always “how big is it?” Don’t believe me?! Well, that’s because you probably have a small dick.

I also usually ask about the foreskin. Just like diamonds -- size and cut are all that matters.

Yes, I might want a man who’s considerate, funny and successful, but if I find out that his dick is nonexistent I will cut my losses and continue on my journey.

Even if it means jumping out of a moving car...

We worked together and had chemistry. We would to go for smoke breaks behind the building. He used to pick me up and pin me against the hallway walls and kiss me passionately. I found him extremely attractive until one day he came to pick me up from a party. I jumped into the passenger seat of his Benz and after he drove to a side street and parked on the side of the curb we started making out like two hormonal teenagers.

I was wearing fishnet stockings and he was pulling at the delicate structure with his fingers leaving marks on my thighs. I decided I wanted to check the goods so I lowered my hand down to his bulge. I remember thinking he might not be as aroused as I was, but after I decided to feel him against my bare hand I realized his dick was the size of chapstick and wasn’t going to expand, since it was already at its full capacity.

I was genuinely shocked like the American population during Clinton’s confession in 1998. I made up the excuse that I had to go back because I forgot my friend at the party and forced him to drive me back. I ended up jumping out of his car before he even stopped, after I barely released myself from his grip holding onto my thigh and arm. I suspect I may have been too transparent.

That wasn’t the only time I cut someone off because their cock wasn’t significant enough.

My girlfriends always ask me why do I only carry Magnums, and I always tell them it’s because I would never be with a man whose cock in a magnum looks like a hamster in a clear ball, that’s just silly.

Simple as that, small cock means no Anna. In fact, if you are reading this thinking 'Oh, Anna disappeared one day I wonder if that's why?' Stop the wondering, you found your answer.

I can imagine my first boyfriend gloating reading this article and all I have to say is: f*ck you assh*le, your dick was the smallest, I just didn’t know better and couldn’t compare it to anyone else.

I am fully aware that this article is going to make some men very angry, and I am sorry.

Actually wait... I’m not.

The female body has been dissected and analyzed more times than Michael Jackson’s body at the morgue. You think I go to the gym so I can live until I’m 80?! No! I do it so I can get laid, so grow thicker skin assh*les.

I know I’m going to hell for this or coming back in my next life as a small-dicked man, oh well, at least I’ll be driving a nice shiny Benz.

Anna Schul Photo Source: The Paper Wall & Bentrova