You open the Dick Tracy lunchbox and see...

...an arm! It reaches through, scrabbles briefly at your belt, unsnaps your huskies, grabs your Johnson and pulls! The metal sides of the lunchbox begin to dig into your crotch and lower belly and BOY HOWDY does that HURT!

Screaming like the Castrati you’ll almost certainly be real soon, you feel the unmistakable sensation of your Weinster being rudely slapped against a table and covered with a fine sheet of lightweight paper. Then the SQUEEZING begins, followed by a sharp object running around the length of your abused Man Noodle.

Get it? Dick Tracy?

You’d laugh if not for the unimaginable, crushing pain in your Naa-Naa region. Instants later though, your almost nostalgic for that degree of pain, as your body folded, spindled, mutilated and generally compressed to fit through the lunchbox. Who’d of thought being bent over backwards until your spine broke would hurt so much?

JUST BE GLAD IT WASN’T A DICK CHENNEY
LUNCHBOX, AND START OVER!