Lately there has been a proliferation of bad news: Slow economic recovery, a soft housing market, corporate insolvency, wars, violence, famine, natural disaster, and the cancelation of “Dog The Bounty Hunter.” Thus, rather than deal with anything too serious in this Election Day column, I decided to be a little more light-hearted. The following is the result - an ode to the bond between men and their “manhood.”
As you may already know, nothing is so prized a possession to the average male as his own penis. And while straight men have little or no interest in the external plumbing of their brethren (other than as a supporting character in a porno), they can become downright sentimental when pondering their close relationship to their own equipment. To put it bluntly, most men consider their penis to be their best friend. Sure, we are hugely attracted to women. And yes, we enjoy the hell out of spending an evening of football, hot wings and frosty brews with our buds. And true, our slipper-fetching Fido is among our favorite companions. But our true BFF is that roll of flesh we keep sequestered in our shorts.
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And why is “cherish” the word we use to describe our penis? Three reasons: Loyalty, reliability and shared common interests. As long as we can remember, our penis has been there for us. Before we even understood its function as “party central,” we appreciated it as the visible symbol of our masculinity, the release valve for our bursting bladders, and a dandy way to practice our cursive in the snow. Then when puberty hit, and all our hormones executed a blitzkrieg of our nether regions, our penises were there to rise to the occasion. Suddenly the whole world of sexuality opened up for us, and it was our trusty tumescent friends who led the way. In times of loneliness, frustration or insomnia, it was our penises that helped us relieve our pent-up tensions. Participation in sports was a fine source of stress relief, but sadly not always convenient or available. Our trusty wieners, however, were ever-ready for action, even late at night and in inclement weather.
As I’m sure some of you are well aware, our affection is so great, that many of us even endow our endowment with a nickname. These monikers can run the gamut from whimsical (“Mr. Happy”) to blatantly boastful (“Sasquatch”). And so concerned are we about our units’ continued good health, that we faithfully endeavor to make certain our “little soldiers” get regular exercise. That’s just how considerate we guys are.