I’m a Hypochondriac

I’m a hypochondriac. Uh, I am. I'm a psycho. I'm very crazy. I know I'm crazy, so I g–it's kinda okay. But it's really not, you know? Like, I wake up every day, and I'm like, I have not been arrested yet, and I'm like, "Good job."

I’m a hypochondriac. I always worry about my dick. I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m always worried about my dick. How are you? Do you always worry about your dick, dude?
It’s good.
It’s good? Oh, well, aren’t you the fucking most confident man in the world? Oh, fucking Mr. Dos Equis over there. “Hey, you ever worry about your dick?” “No, I’m fine, man.” “Oh, fuck you, dude." That was it. "Actually, never in my life. My dick is perfect."

I always worry about my dick. I always freak out for no reason. Like, um... Here's–here's how I thought that you could get something. Like, uh, I’m sure every guy can relate to this. This ruins my day whenever it happens. Whenever I have to take a shit in a public place and my dick touches the toilet seat, it ruins my day immediately. I’m like, “Oh, my God, I just got everything in this place.” My dick starts, like, coiling back, ’cause, like, it knows what it did. And it's all– I’m like, “No, fuck you.” I actually told my doctor that once. I was like, “Before you take a look, I think I know what it is.” I’m like, “You ever take a shit at the McDonald’s and your dick touches the toilet seat? I think that’s where I got this from.” And he’s like, “That’s not possible.” And I was like, “Well, you’re the doctor, and I’m just trying to help.”