Join our special guest "Anonymous" in his quest for the ultimate "package". Maybe we would want to remain anonymous too, when dealing with subject matter this, shall we say, "sensitive?" All we can tell you is that this talent lives and works in NYC and makes a living doing promotional writing for the record business (VH1, Interscope, BMG, etc.) He once referred to a new release by Motley Crue as the "aural equivalent of a good nipple-piercing," and believe it or not, got away with it. In his free time, Anonymous steals from the rich and gives to the poor, swings through windows on chandeliers and sings with a lederhosen Oompapa band. This guy is busy.

IS THAT a GUN IN YOUR POCKET or are you just HAPPY to see ME?

By Anonymous

Lemme start this by getting one thing straight. I ain’t no George Costanza. Don’t suffer one whit of shrinkage, never once been laughed at, to put it simply...

My dick's not small.

Not,uhhh....puny...

There. I said it.

Whew.

In tandem with, well, not, like, being tiny, however, I'm also, well, umm, like - well, I'm not HUMONGO either. I’ll admit that. Don’t have a problem. Perfectly okay with it...

No, really.

What I am, then? Well, I’ll just come out and say it. Penis-wise, well, I’m just pretty damn average. Not too big, not too small. No Dirk Diggler. No Tiny Tim, either.

Joe Average, really.

Joe Fuckin' Average.

Sigh.

Like many a Joe Average (and there are millions of us, trust me), the last few years have been a bit of a drag. Maybe it's 'cause of the Internet or maybe it's the rise of shows like Sex and the City, but discussions of Penis Size are now everywhere, from Ally McBeal to Internet chat rooms to movie billboards (Size Matters).

These days, if you're not hung like Johhny Wadd, you feel like you might as well just stay home. Think I'm exaggerating? Try going out for a night on the town with my friends Hillary and Lisa, as I did recently. The evening began with a discussion of dildos -- you see, Lisa wanted to buy a new one because the size of the one she had been using simply didn't cut it anymore. And Hillary, well, she needed a new one too, because she had gotten hers from slimy Steve, and who knows where the hell he stuck that thing before her, and Hillary felt so gross using Steve's second-hand dildo that she used a fucking rubber on it every time she stuck it inside of her.

And after talking a while about dildos, well, of course the conversation had to swing over to dicks themselves. Lisa was now going celibate, because after her last boyfriend (who she dubbed "the schlong"), well, sex just wasn't cutting it for her anymore. And Hillary, well, while she looks like an angel, she was going on and on about a guy she had recently fucked whose dick was "the size of a coke bottle."

"A quart bottle," she slurred with a drunken smile.

What could I do but just nod and smile knowingly? Say something stupid like "it ain't what ya do it's the way that you do it?" Talk about the ten orgasms a night my ex-girlfriend used to have?

Nope, if I had said any of that stuff, I would have been immediately under suspicion.

Guy must have a tiny dick to say something like that...

The Experiment

I dunno, maybe I was traumatized or something, but when I got home from that night out, I had a bee in my bonnet. Were women truly that fixated on dick size, or was I just hanging out with two unrepentant size queens? Somehow, I had to find out. But how?

Then it hit me. Remember the scene in Spinal Tap where bass player Derek Smalls is stopped in the airport because a foreign object in his trousers keeps setting off the machines? Well, if stuffed trousers were the oldest trick in rock 'n' roll -- why couldn't I, the aforementioned Joe Average, play Dick For a Day myself?

The more I started thinking about it, the more I started laughing. I would take myself to the local fruits and vegetables market, find the proper, realistic-looking object to fit inside my pants, and then I would spend the rest of the day studlying my way around New York City in my tightest pair of pants. I would find out once and for all what percentage of women truly had their eyes cast downwards for a reason while walking through the city. And I would finally know what it was like to truly be the "Cock of the Walk." Ten minutes later, I was staring down at bananas in the grocery store.

(This is the first installment of several to follow.)

Contact Anonymous at 5a7@avivalasvegas.com. Make sure to put Anonymous in the subject line.

Archives

Feb/01
March/01
May/01
July/01
April/02