Feminism / Media

The Return of the Petite Prick: Could small cocks make a comeback?

(Title stolen from Jessica Valenti. Most of the non-penis-related words below stolen from Simon Doonan, because COME ON.) 

The larger dick became the norm around the turn of the century, and it shows no signs of deflating. Radical cock augmentation is now ubiquitous, according to me, and to hell with the consequences. So what if you bruise your abdomen while running to catch the bus? So what if you can’t fit into any trendy clothes because your waist is a 34 but your rod is the size of a Shake Weight? It’s worth it to be the focus of female and gay male attention. Right?

A non-existent trend in restaurants—I like to imagine foodie insiders would call them pricketerias—would, if it existed, justify my desire to write phrases like “leviathan love muscles” and get paid for it, even though I’m basically making shit up. Examples might include Seattle-based Peckerheads, where the waiters are dressed as firefighters, football players and racecar drivers–but you know, slutty ones–and The Open Fly, which could have more than fifty—count ‘em!—locations nationwide, plus one in Canada, if we lived in a culture that regarded the male body as an object for consumption, like tasty hot wings. And then there’s the Back Door … But let’s not get distracted by asstaurants. Let’s stick with the topic at hand: With their phalanxes of liberally endowed, Speedo-clad serving drudges, these phallus palaces are poised to make even old-school Jumbo Johnson’s (that’s what I assume the old school version would have been called) appear tentative, restrained, and genteel, to mention nothing of causing my (similarly non-existent) insecure MRA brother to have a seizure.

Despite the worldwide embrace of enormous artificial dongs that I just made up, I remain convinced that the pendulous pendulum will, at some point, begin to swing in the other direction. Style is, after all, cyclical in nature. I know what you are thinking: Only a feminist could seriously posit the notion that big dicks might “go out of fashion.” However, being d’un certain age, I am old enough to remember when teeny peenies roamed the Earth.

Wobbly screen. Let’s go back.

It’s the early 1990s. I am at the movie theater with a bunch of my ladyfriends, none of whom are any more penis-obsessed than I am. We are here to see The Piano, a trendy, arty film starring Holly Hunter, Harvey Keitel, and Anna Paquin as I don’t even remember what, but also: Harvey Keitel’s cock. Apart from Jaye Davidson’s, I cannot remember an onscreen ween receiving more attention during my college years. The Piano and The Crying Game were kind of a long time ago, and I don’t actually remember how big either ballyhooed tallywhacker was, so it’s not a very good story. This concludes my paragraph about movie wangs of my youth.

Memories of the hype around Harvey Keitel’s flapping flute came flooding back when people started talking about the recent movie ShameShame is intermittently enlivened with– as someone who, unlike me, has seen it wrote– “hookers, pornography, masturbation and casual sex, all pursued with a resolve that can only be called grim.” Whenever the narrative starts flagging, I hear, off come the clothes, and here comes Michael Fassbender’s well-shaped natural manhood.

Not having seen it (except wait, I did see A Dangerous Method, and that might also have full frontal Fassbender? With all due respect to the very fine actor and his junk, I can’t recall that, either), I can only speculate as to whether the ferociously compelling Mister Fassbender, with his uninflated organ, might possess the power to usher out the era of the porno-wang. Can he put the natural wiener back up where it belongs? Might Shame repopularize the smaller shaft, or Hampton Wick, as it is known in the Cockney rhyming slang of Simon Doonan’s homeland? (It’s rhyming slang. Use your imagination, or Google “Cockney rhyming slang penis” like I did.)

My optimistic speculations fizzled—a bit like the elastic in vintage Calvin Klein tighty-whities—when a movie buff pal apprised me of the following fact: Fassbender’s dick is big! So much for the trend I made up to counterbalance the other trend I made up. Poop.

I realize that, as far as most people are concerned, there is no issue here. Most people are too busy enjoying the current era of well-rounded male characters and very little schlong in their mainstream cinema to give a thought to any alternative. In this regard, they are most selfish. After all, practically every movie has a pair of naked tits on a two-dimensional lady character in it these days, and if I know anything about equality, that means we should all be clamoring for more wooden male characters, if you get my drift. We are tired of seeing no motherfuckin’ trouser snakes on these motherfuckin’ screens, is what I’m saying! (I ask you: Who needs current jokes when you have a gift for humorous wordplay?)

They’d best be natural-looking, smaller trouser snakes, though. At the end of the day, health concerns may well cut the cackle, which I assume is Cockney rhyming slang for something that makes sense here. After all, MayoClinic.com says that penile implants carry numerous risks, including that “in some semirigid devices, internal parts can break down over time. In inflatable devices, fluid can leak or the pump device can fail.” Yikes! More horrifying still: “In some cases, an implant may stick to the skin inside the penis or wear away the skin from inside the penis. Rarely, an implant breaks through the skin.” And since my tacky, played-out dick jokes mostly don’t work unless you accept the premise that all large penises were made so artificially by their (shallow and vain, though of course you won’t hear me say it!) owners, it follows that a wee willy is better for one’s health and thus the only fashionable choice in a rational world.

But let’s not end on such a downer. I simply couldn’t carry myself with an erect bearing if I left it there. With that in mind, I give you my current fave imaginary pricketeria chain name: Joysticks. Feel free to one-up me in the comments with a well-monikered pricketeria from your own imagination, since there is obviously not an actual one in your neighborhood because LOL, I mean really.

Bon appétit!

 

16 thoughts on “The Return of the Petite Prick: Could small cocks make a comeback?

  1. I love this! And I love how the original inspiration was a TREND PIECE! I mean if that whole genre hasn’t shamed itself into nonexistence by now, then what can’t we claim is a trend? I half-expect someone from the New York Times to link to your spoof, with a very somberly-intoned intro about how “A small but growing number of men are sporting large but shrinking amounts of wiener, says one member of the so-called ‘blog-o-sphere.’”

    • What’s sad is, the original line was “firefighters, cheerleaders, and race car drivers,” so I just changed the middle one, and then I looked at it and realized I had a list of stereotypical Red-Blooded American Male types, not a list of stereotypical sex objects, so I had to add the “slutty” bit. (I mean yes, athletes and men in uniform are culturally considered attractive, but not in a “Let’s go eat wings and stare at their cocks and pretend they’re being nice to us because we’re special” way.) In this entire thing, that was probably the most depressing line to write.

  2. I’m so happy to read this.
    I read the original piece right after an afternoon of trying to buy clothes and getting “we don’t make large sizes in this store” everywhere, with the medium sizes fitting up to the point where the zipper won’t close anymore because of my naturally big breasts, so I was particularly vulnerable to screaming at the author (even as I recognized that he shouldn’t be a jerk to women with surgically augmented breasts either.)

Comments are closed.