Listening to talk radio on long drives keeps me from falling asleep. Depending on traffic, a few minutes of Rush Limbaugh can keep me seething for a good fifty miles. Though his partisan rants are intended to amuse, the real entertainment comes from some of the ads — especially the ads for masculine enhancement.
For the uninitiated, uninformed, or blissfully unaware, masculine enhancement is a radio-friendly euphemism for penis enlargement. That’s right, ladies (and both of the men who read my blog), your man can now buy pills, potions, devices, and exercise plans guaranteed to add inches to his… er, masculinity.
Looking for a gift for the man who has everything? Rare, indeed, is the guy who wouldn’t mind another inch or two. It’s a gift you’ll both love, and with the money back guarantee, what have you got to lose? Just think of the fun you’ll have measuring progress toward your shared goal on the side of an empty 24-ounce Colt 45 can.
Everything about these ads cracks me up. According to the testimonials, masculine enhancement has turned lives around. Once shy dudes have become…cocky, strutting around gyms and bedrooms like banty roosters.
I say poppy cock.
If these products really worked, we’d see thousands of tweets with links to a YouTube channel proving their accomplishment with updates on Facebook, Google+, and Tumblr, and new DVDs as milestones are reached. In the absence of such — and trust me, I’ve searched on every available search engine for every conceivable combination of key words and I get nothing — I’m forced to conclude that none of these products work.
I don’t want to sound defensive or anything, but I question the whole idea of a generous endowment as the surest indicator of masculinity. Nice packages can turn up in surprising places. Some of the most masculine people I’ve ever met were lesbians, who, at least at the time, didn’t even have one.
Based on my exhaustive research — a meta analysis of decades-long experiments involving thousands of subjects conducted by every gay man I know — the correlation between penis size and masculinity is dubious, at best. Relying on butch-ness to separate the teeny weenies from the larger sausages is a direct flight to the land of disappointment. Trust me, I know.
Forget about the size of his hands, feet, nose, ears or other body parts too. There’s only one way to find out. No, silly, you can’t just ask him. He’ll say seven-ish, without ever revealing the actual unit of measurement. Are we talking real inches, AOL inches, or centimeters? The actual range for seven-ish is anything from three to six inches.
Note that the max is a good inch shy of the claim. It’s a man thing. Sort of the reverse of the lady thing about her dress size. You don’t get this kind of wisdom overnight folks. Nope. I’ve studied this shit for most of my life. Remember, you heard it here first.