The following is a post I wrote for a place I sometimes write a little of the funny for ... but in this case they decided the penis-funny was a bit too cockified for the likes of them. Not everyone is into the dirty talk. Myself, I think it's all about consent. But for now, I present this dated, naughty, cockified post that should have run a week ago and didn't. Take a great big bite, and enjoy:
Men, De-briefed
By Susie Moloney
There’s
always an abundance of cock and
bull in the media, but the last few weeks have proven that size must matter, because there’s suddenly been a tonne of it.
It’s
been a month of cock ups. And cocks down, truth be told, starting with the
landmark study which found that women prefer larger penises during sex.
“I
never would have guessed,” said no one.
This
month, the poor, benighted dick is suddenly a cousin you haven’t seen in five
years: now you can’t take your eyes off it, you’re staring, and it’s weird,
uncomfortable, and kind of hot.
The
dick news that really got to me, however, was the small ‘b’ brouhaha over Jon
Hamm’s other Hamm getting in the way on the set of Mad Men.
Holy
firestorm, Batdick.
It
secretly delighted us, even as it enlightened us, disturbed us, and revealed
that we are female chauvinist pigs. Okay, me. It did that for me. I’m sure the rest of womankind spent the last two
weeks doing their taxes, reading Tenth of December and calling into Science Friday.
Me,
I was getting secretly delighted on at least two levels, only one of which I
feel I can discuss.
The
headline news was: Actor Jon Hamm has a big penis. A Hammer, if you will. A
Yowlitzer. A Skin Grenade. A Big Mac. A Moby Dick. A Phallupalooza. A Really Big Lebowski.
Yup,
that was in the news. Granted, it was outlets such as The NY Daily News and The
Telegraph UK, but the HuffPo also carried the story, as did the Daily Beast and
about 2,479 blogs. The classier, more legitimate outlets were more subtle,
writing breathlessly outraged pieces about Hamm’s alleged breathlessly outraged
reaction to people writing about the size of his dick. At the centre of those
stories, however, was still the central story that Jon Hamm has a rather conspicuous
member.
I
snickered along with the rest of the internet, feeling maybe a little bad,
maybe a little shamed, when I thought about it at all, which was never in those
first few days of these photos being released. It wasn’t until Hamm got testy in Rolling Stone
about the attention that I realized--I was one of them.
Maybe
you were too.
The
actor who plays one of the most cavalier swordsmen out there was being--and
feeling--exploited. And it was awful.
“It’s
called privates for a reason,” he was quoted as saying.
I
quickly deactivated my new blog www.longdongdraper.wordpress.com
and tossed about three hours worth of dick jokes into the trash—except for the
few I couldn’t part with, and those are mostly up top in this article, except
for that one you just read, the mash up of “Don Draper,” and “Long Dong
Silver,” both very worthwhile people, I’m sure, who do not deserve to be
treated as parts.
It’s
surprising what we don’t know about ourselves. I for one am disgusted—and
glad—to know that I’m a part of the problem. Glad, because now I can be part of
the solution. No longer will I be the one who would suggest that if Jon Hamm
didn’t want us to look at his man bits, he shouldn’t have worn such tight
pants. Or, if he didn’t want us to look at him there he should have worn a longer shirt. Or, if he really
didn’t want us to look then perhaps he shouldn’t have gone strutting around in
public. I feel a little baited. But enlightened nonetheless.
I
think it’s time we started a dialogue about what men need to feel safe and
respected. It’s very confusing to be told on one hand that they all want to
think they’re “big,” and then on the other hand, we can’t talk about size.
No
one has yet written the concise and moving What We Talk About When We Talk
About Dick (I will!) nor has the Cock
Monologues been making the rounds of local
theatre houses. Yet. Because it should be. Someone will need to write it. It
could be illustrated. Any boy in grade seven can do it.
What
really needs to happen is that we have to stop talking about poor Jon Hamm’s
Grand Slam Breakfast Ham and remember that this man is an artist. He’s not a
plaything. He’s not an object. He’s not Christina Hendricks’ boobs, or
Beyonce’s ass.
Let’s
just grow up.
FYI,
a similar search for Norman Reedus turned up this.
Oh yeah. And Margaret Thatcher died. Busy week.
great stuff! see www.packagecheck.com
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