Greatest Hits: In Defense of Mr. Johnson

Originally published on July 31, 2012.

I am the male penis. But for the sake of this treatise, you can call me Mr. Johnson.

I’m coming to you today (no pun intended) to clear the air about some things. Lately, I feel like I’ve been getting a bad rap and it should come as no surprise that I am not very happy about it. And my partners, the Testicle Brothers, share my displeasure.

Before I address the issues—which include being blamed for controlling male behavior and facing charges of inappropriate arousal in public—I feel a little background is needed.

I am not here by choice and hope you know that I have better things to do than simply hanging around all day. However, I am an integral part of the male anatomy and feel it’s time I get my due consideration.

Yes, I am responsible for expelling liquid waste, which I can tell you is no picnic. Guys drink all kinds of weird stuff—from sports drinks and sodas to liquor and beer—so I spend a lot of time serving this function. Not only that, but I often find myself exposed in the weirdest of places, like parking garages and even public parks. And I’m expected to do my business here? Give me a break. You know I always get nervous when I’m outside the comfort of a nice, relaxing bathroom. And I prefer clean stalls, mind you, not those stand-up deals or troughs. Not to be particular, but I work better when there aren’t other penises around, you know? No offense to my bald brothers out there, but some of you are just plain scary!

On a more personal note, I would also like to express that yes, size does matter. Just don’t blame me if I’m smaller than you would like because there is nothing I can do about it. Sure, I have the blood pumped down here every so often and try to get you some length and girth, but I’m not a miracle worker. And if I’m small, it probably means you did something really bad in a previous life. I’m kidding!

Of course, there are steps you can take to make me bigger. I have a friend who gets vacuum pumped daily and he’s managed to add some girth. Yes, I prefer more intimate strategies—if you catch my drift… wink, wink (and yes, I can wink with one eye)—but a penis pump could be the answer. Hell, I even heard there’s some kind of surgery you can get to make me bigger. I don’t know any schlongs who have lived to tell about it, but I’m fairly certain there is some kind of procedure out there. Let your fingers do the walking and I’m sure you can find a doctor nearby. I would offer to help, but flipping through the yellow pages isn’t part of my skill set.

So back to the issues at hand. Word on the street is that some people—men included—blame me for controlling male behavior. They claim that I start making decisions and that brains basically stop working. What a ridiculous notion! Sure, I make my opinion known and have at least some influence over my man, but I can’t put words in his mouth or compel him to cheat on his mate. That’s all brain, I assure you. If I could control my guy, don’t you think he would have dispelled with the briefs and put me in boxers a long time ago? Please…

I also take offense to the idea that growing in awkward and public places is my fault. Once again, you can pin that one on the brain. If my guy didn’t notice some attractive woman and immediately fantasize about seeing her naked, then I wouldn’t even bother. But come on, I enjoy the sexy stuff, too. It’s about the only time I get real exercise—masturbating doesn’t count because honestly, there’s usually too much chafing to make it enjoyable—so I confess: I do pop up to take a look every so often. I’m sorry if this happens in a strange or public place, but what are you really going to do about it? Cut me off?

I suppose the message I’m trying to send is this: I aim to please. And in the cases of many of my pals, this isn’t limited to only women. However, I cannot sit idly by while my good name is dragged through the mud. Sure, I have my problems, but show me an organ that doesn’t? And if you’re not happy with my performance, why not treat me better? Stay in shape, eat well and give me the fuel I need to really perform for the ladies. Size matters, of course, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve—my man isn‘t circumcised—that aren’t limited by my dimensions. And remember what a wise man once said:

“It ain’t the size of the ship; it’s the motion of the ocean.”

Amen to that.

Posted on June 9, 2013, in Life, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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