I'd say the second biggest male insecurity concerns penis size, and sexual prowess in general. Men are freaked out by penis size, independent of reality. Two people fit or they don't, and sometimes a man with a meat pendulum just doesn't fit. But recently, I've been noticing more and more of those "male enhancement" drug commercials, which seem to be subsidizing all of cable television. You know the spots, where a creepy middle-aged man enthusiastically talks in winking innuendos about increasing stamina, improving your love life, and sometimes there's an endorsement by a race car driver. Read up on these "vitamins." The best parts of the commercials are when they promise users "powerful erections." That's right: Erections that can shatter concrete blocks! Judging from the omnipresence of this patently absurd snake oil, I can only surmise that there are a lot of men out there dreaming of a magic pill that will turn their penises into light sabers. This makes me sad. These ridiculous pills are probably just part pesticide, part Tic-Tac.
But I think men and women share a similar neurosis about weight, although we tackle it in different ways. I think men are more results-oriented, and less prone to angst. But not me! It should not surprise you to know that I was a mouth-breathing little butterball growing up. I'd blame something glandular, but it was probably the transfixing stare of that whore, Little Debbie. I mean, don't pile on the sympathy. I was a fat kid, but an angry, belligerent one. Try and push me around, and I'd throw my "Lunchables" at your head, then waddle over and punch you in the throat. There are some scars, though. In fourth grade, my mother forced me to wear a ghastly, dark yellow sweatsuit she had proudly bought at a thrift store. The suit's color resembled the cafeteria's butterscotch pudding. Which earned me the nickname, ahem, "Puddin'." The first person to refer to me by that nickname gets punched in the throat.