Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Mail Order Penis
Here’s Bob. Bob’s life sucked till he started taking MiraclePeckerGro2000. Now he’s the toast of the town. Everyone wants to be his friend. His boss kisses his ass. Sports teams rally around him. He could part the Red Sea with his Johnson. Yeah, right.
You just gotta love these commercials for Male Enhancements. If it’s there, but doesn’t work, there’s Viagra, Levitra, and Cialys. If it works but it’s too small to suit your ego, there’s Extenz and Enzyte. Yeah, the vagina may have had its monologues, but the penis is big business.
I don’t mean to make light of men with erectile dysfunction. It’s a very real, very serious, debilitating medical condition. It’s the guys so worried about how big it is that need a whack in the forehead with a 10-pound codfish. The commercials are slick; slick as ever, just like any drug company advertising has become these days. The commercials for Enzyte make you feel that with a big enough unit, you can slay dragons and win the Nobel Prize. Bob smiles all the time, gets promoted, saves kittens, gets the key to the city, is the envy of all his friends, (and the lust object of his friends’ wives) and the Good Guys win all the sporting events just because Bob’s a fan of their team. Yeah. Sure. Okay. On the surface it seems Bob’s a success because he’s uber-confident now that he takes Enzyte, but the commercial’s darker underbelly makes you think that a monster tally whacker is the key to life, the Holy Grail of Manliness, Cock Almighty.
The commercial for Extenz is even more insidious. It’s a 30-minute infomercial that comes on at 3AM. It features porn star Ron Jeremy and a casting couch full of silicone tarts that couldn’t come up with three brain cells among them if the fate of all mankind rested upon it. I came across this train wreck on cable one night after getting up to use the bathroom and couldn’t immediately fall back asleep. And a train wreck it is; you can’t stop watching it even though you feel evil for doing so. Okay, I’ll give Ron Jeremy his props. He’s made a 25-year career out of having sex all day long, and he’s a seriously homely guy. His nickname is The Hedgehog; need I say more? So he’s sitting there leering and grinning as these porn chicks talk about how sex is always better when a man has a bigger Special Place. Yes. I kid you not. They call it a Special Place, or Special Part. The same chicks that scream the F-word as bad music hums along in the background while getting plowed by some doofus with a freakishly giant dong are referring it to it now as a Special Place. Please, kill me now. This infomercial pretty much convinces the impressionable that with a bigger penis, you’ll now finally satisfy all women, and you too can get porn stars to fake orgasms for you instead of for Ron Jeremy. Either way, these vultures are preying upon the fears and insecurities of men and making them feel that deep inside, you have a small pee pee and you’ll never amount to anything unless you take our drugs.
And remember, erections lasting more than four hours, while rare, require immediate medical help. Call 911? Not bloody likely. If I get a 4-hour woody, I’m calling CNN.