There’s a new study about penis size. I realize penises are controversial in America (just take a look at Anthony Weiner’s scandal), but love them or hate them, penises exist. And in massive quantity. Well, you know that. They are lurking behind fabric everywhere. Some are strapped up tight, and others are free to bob. I always suggest you love penises rather than hate them, because that will make life easier for all of us, but that’s your prerogative. I don’t have the power to change minds. At least not in this lifetime.
About that penis size study. I was talking to homeless Johnny (featured in the Rebecca Black Suicides) as we sat beneath our favorite tree in McArthur Park (the second largest tree in the park). We were sweating. I read from the paper:
Researchers in South Korea think they’ve finally been able to crack the code that indicates the size of a man’s penis, and it comes down to a ratio of finger length on the right hand.
“The right?” asked Johnny.
What did I just read? I said. I didn’t say the left.
“Easy, boss,” he said, using his hand to brush away a few flies that live inside his grungy jacket.
It’s the heat, I said. Now, let me continue to read:
A new study published in the Asian Journal of Andrology says that the lower the ratio between the length of a man’s index finger and the length of his ring finger, the longer his penis.
“Mine’s pretty long,” Johnny said. “But it ain’t like I used it much.”
Well, you stink, I said. It’s no wonder. Johnny unzipped his pants and studied his shriveled manhood. He held up his hand, squinting, and then looked past his opened zipper again. “About right,” he said. “Take a look.”
You’re right, I said, there is quite a difference between your index finger and ring finger. The penis study must be accurate.
“The Koreans know what they’re doing,” he said, “they are wizards in some things.”
Like penis size studies. So the shorter the index finger is than the ring finger, the more stretched your penis will likely be.
Johnny zipped up and said, “Now let’s see how yours.”
I tucked my right hand behind me and said, Never. I will not sink to comparing genitals with other men. That’s how the Iraq war started. That’s why we’re continuously bombing other countries. The Cold War was really just about who had the bigger set of manhood. That’s also why we sent man to the moon. We knew there was nothing up there, but to see that hard rocket bursting into the air and leaving that long trail of thick white smoke, that was the ultimate proof for the men running this country that they were, indeed, men.
“You’re just afraid,” Johnny said, “because you don’t compare to this washed up bum. Not in the manhood department, anyway.”
That’s not true! I shouted, and I rolled up my newspaper and repeatedly swatted his head and midsection with the paper baton. I hid my hand when I finished. To think, I said, that someone could covertly take a sneak peak at my fingers and get a good idea how long my penis is. That’s troubling. I might as well wear a shirt that says 9 inches.
Johnny laughed. That was our day in the park. Now it’s time for you, if you’re a male, to check your right hand. And study it closely.