Ladies and gentlemen, today we find ourselves at the forefront of a brave new world. I submit that the dawn of a new shift in the existence of man is most clearly marked by the presence of penis enlargement pill advertisements on television.
I never thought I'd see the day. As an American, I swelled with pride upon the airing of this revolutionary ad. However, I don't believe that we should so readily embrace this candid promotion of manhood expansion, as it will soon be clear that a much more treacherous plot is afoot.
I will say that the commercial did an excellent job of representing the global female perspective with the viewpoint of one woman. Who, incidentally, appears to be none other than an out of work hairdresser's assistant. Anyway, this future Oscar-winner convincingly pleads that in order to please a woman, the absolute minimum length for a manrod is six inches.
I'm completely fine with this- plenty fine, don't you worry about that; fine by at least four inches in fact. I'm just saying. But in defense of my less gifted brothers, I must argue that it sounds ridiculous that the male penis-- not to say there is as such thing as a female penis, at least I don't think there is-- Anyway, it's absurd that the male genitalia has to be six inches in length, or else be deemed insufficient and rendered out of commission.
Then it hit me. An epiphany hit me, not a penis. I was handing my money to a cashier when - for the first time in all my years of money handling - I observed the length of a dollar bill. Six inches!!! It can't be a coincidence.
Men, what women are trying to tell us is that without decent earning power, we simply can't measure up. They put it in this complex fashion just because, you know, women make no sense to us. But the message is clear now, ladies, and we're not going to lie limp while you judge us based on superficial characteristics without getting to know the real us.
Sadly, there are plenty more messages women are spreading that are just as dangerous and even more covert. Connections that are so transparent, they may not even make sense even once revealed. We've got a team working on them at this very moment. But the team is made up of guys. So we don't end up doing much of anything. Oh well.
Other signs that point towards the decline of western civilization include the premiere of the Bachelorette last week, which has left audiences stunned in silence since its debut. I for one can't say that I see the big deal with it. So, let me get this straight: 25 guys vying for the attention and affection of one girl? Yeah, it's called going to Drexel. Get over it. You want to see desperate guys? Check out this place on a hot summer day when the temperatures rise and the neck lines drop. Now that's reality.
On the flip side of the Great Gender Divide, we have Joe Millionaire, the show that boldly dares to question whether there are people who are more interested in money and image than love. How can you not be glued to a program that ripped off the premise of the 1999 film Drive Me Crazy - which itself was a successfully plagiarized version of 1987's Can't Buy Me Love? The moral of the story is that no one will love you until you clean yourself up and assume a fake persona, preferably one that violates everything you stand for.
In the end, the cryptic penis messages and the reality TV craze are going to have changed the way we watch television; presumably by forcing us to shut it off. Otherwise we're left with a sad, desperate vision of the future. A future in which scores of men stumble over one another in pursuit of women like a herd of rabid dogs after a cat; lie to women about their jobs and economic security in order to fulfill their own ulterior motives; and yet struggle to fulfill the physical desires of women. Let us hope this day never comes.
Anyway, I'm outta here. I'm going to play the home version of Joe Millionaire. I call it Joey Five Spot and it's pretty simple. I wear a University of Penn sweatshirt, hang out on Penn's campus and try to woo economically minded girls by telling them I have no student loans. You know, in search of a true love who will love me for me.
**The author of this piece can not be held responsible for any penile paper cuts suffered as a result of the remarks set forth in this piece. Seriously, boys, don't even try it. You'll only embarrass yourself.
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