Darren Wilson Is A Dick. Literally

St. Louis County Prosecutor's Office/Getty Images
St. Louis County Prosecutor's Office/Getty Images

Darren Wilson is a dick.

Not in the figurative sense (although he is that too).

No, I came to that conclusion after seeing the first clear images of him — the photos of the injuries he sustained while involved in the life-threatening altercation with the 8'4, 720 pound Michael Brown.


Darren Wilson is dick, literally. He is a six foot four penis someone drew a somewhat convincing human face on. His mouth sits slightly open and subtly askew like a urinary meatus. His neck froths in place like extra foreskin. His white t-shirt limps on him like a baggy condom on a flaccid dick. Even his injuries (and by "injuries" I mean "slightly flushed cheeks") closely resemble how the skin of a penis looks after a person with a penis has been sitting in an awkward position for two and a half minutes. He is a real life Mr. Potato Head, except if the potato was a penis.

When you realize this — that Darren Wilson is a penis impersonating a man — everything that's been happening in Ferguson makes more sense. If Darren Wilson is a penis, then Bob McCulloch's pre-press conference smirking becomes understandable. Because who could possibly think anything about this situation was funny…unless, of course, you knew that the "person" being exonerated was actually just a giant penis with a person face? That would be fucking hilarious. I would not be able to contain myself. If I knew Darren Wilson was literally a penis and I was forced to address the nation about him/it, I would literally piss my pants trying to keep a straight face.

It also makes sense now why Darren Wilson was so scared. Because he's an actual penis, and penises shrink when faced with any type of threat, real or perceived. Shit, loud thunder has made my penis shrink before, so I can imagine that a life sized penis would have thought "HOLY SHIT, I'M ABOUT TO DIE!" when Michael Brown made a mean face at it.

So, I get it now. The joke is on us. You got us really good this time. But it won't happen again. Fool us once, penis person, shame on you. Fool us twice, shame on us.

Damon Young is the editor-in-chief of VSB, a contributing opinion writer for The New York Times, and the author of What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Blacker (Ecco/HarperCollins)



I wish more Black people knew how to be hackers. I have no interest in this man's physical well-being. Those injuries heal. I want to see this man destroyed from the inside out. His credit report going below 300. His bank accounts wiped out. His home burned. His life savings mysteriously vanishing. I want him and anyone in conjunction with him to learn what life would be like when the world hates you, and will not forget you. I want his family to live in constant fear of never being able to hold anything, because the minute they go online, all records will be hacked. I want him to be on the brink of living off the grid if he wants to find peace. I want his existence in all USA databases officially deleted, to the point where he'd be mistaken for a Canadian illegal immigrant.

I want him to suffer. Slowly. Until he starts to crack. Until he cries himself to sleep because his family can't stand him for all the crap they are suffering through just because of what he did. I want his life to never know solace ever again.

That is all.