I just can’t stop thinking about Scooby-Doo when I jack it. That bastard’s been lurking in the back of my mind for weeks now, popping up at even the slightest sign of a hard-on and spoiling all my wanks. It’s like a disease. How am I supposed to squirt my spoonful when I can’t stop thinking about fucking Scooby-Doo.

Now I know what you’re thinking, and I’ve not been fantasising about fucking an animated dog. Scooby is the least erotic thing I can think of. No, there’s definitely something wrong with my head. He won’t go away. I can’t even look at my dick without hearing his phantom voice echoing in my mind and it’s driving me crazy. Try as I might to desperately rub one out, it only takes a few minutes of Scooby-Doo before I’m flaccid again. He has a powerful hold on me like that. Porn only seems to make it worse; his presence more visceral. I can’t escape the Scoob.

Scooby-Doo only appears when I try to masturbate. My thoughts are my own otherwise, and I find myself avoiding anything at all that might arouse me. But accidents happen. Slip-ups in the morning, where it’s all warm and cosy under the duvet, and a wandering hand summons Scooby-Doo before I’m fully awake. I used to sleep naked. Not any more.

Nothing I’ve tried to get rid of him has worked and I’m getting more restless every day. It just doesn’t make any sense. Is it a curse? Have I been cursed? If it’s a curse, why Scooby-Doo? I just don’t know. I hope he fucks off soon so I can jizz in peace.