That Pesky Appendage

Hokay, so this is three Maria posts in a row.
What of it?
I just read her comment in yesterday's postbag and she mentioned "that pesky appendage", so here we go; just what the world has been waiting for: a post about my penis.

First up:
Never mind common sense, reason, observation and experiment; the real clincher in the argument against "intelligent design" has to be the penis.
I mean, look at it!
Design?
Intelligent?
For fuck's sake, that has to be the ugliest thing in the universe. A thing stuck to my front that, in its pomp, looks like a deformed sausage, and the rest of the time resembles nothing more than a very elderly, wrinkled midget with its insides sucked out.

And it's not just "intelligent design"; the penis makes one seriously doubt God's existence.
According to scripture, He made us in His image …
I've seen myself naked and I mean "WHAT?"
"What the fuck?"
If that's what God looks like then it's little wonder He goes around disguised as a burning bush or a pillar of fire.
Moses climbs up the mountain and sees Him standing there? He's likely to walk straight back down and start a golden calf factory.
Good Christian people devote their whole lives to worshipping Him and to doing good works and they get to Heaven and see the little sign by the gates that says "Laugh at Him and you go straight down to Hell." And they go in and there's this big throne and sitting on it is something that looks like me first thing in the morning …
With a wizened penis on the front …

And as for the practicality of the thing?
Picture this: I'm sitting in the office, beavering away … remember I design girls' schools for a living and my office is ninety percent weemen … and my girlfriend sends me a frisky email (which she does, dammit).
"SPANG!" I'm stuck at my desk for ages.
I have to sit there, ignoring requests from Aga or Genevieve or Squeaky Kate to help them with something, forcing myself to think of doing a week's worth of washing up with George Bush until my trousers are a more socially acceptable shape.
Working where I do, a misbehaving penis could land me in real hot water.
Which imbecile designed that?
No God worth worshipping, that's for sure.

And that's why I only wear 501s when I'm not at work. I'm a button fly man.
Zip flies? I've seen "There's Something About Mary." Brrr … The zip fly suggests that if there IS a God, then not only is She a woman, but Satan is, too.
I can see Ms. Beelzebub now, cackling to her deformed minions that she has made a new and terrible form of dæmon; a thing consisting of nothing but lots of tiny, sharp teeth, designed to bite into the foreskin or scrotum and never let go. And that she will cause this dæmon to live in men's trousers …
Shudder.

And don't ever go swimming with one!
Cold water makes 'em shrink down to a nub and try to hide inside your body. Tight Speedos are only a good idea BEFORE you go in the water. When you come out, be sure and wear baggies.

Actually, I've never really understood all of this macho, penis-size shit, either.
I drive a small car because I'm happy with my pesky appendage (no, it doesn't have a name); driving a strap-on sports car just screams "TINY DICK!" at passers-by.
And that thing where men can't pee if they're standing next to someone with a big cock?
Weird …
Por exemplo:
Andy, our deputy head of accounts is a six foot five Nigerian, big and black and so darned handsome that the girls in accounts have plastic, wipe-clean chairs; shit, he even gets ME wet.
We're the best of buddies, especially since an incident in the men's room a few years back which will illustrate my point.
We were standing there, peeing and suddenly Andy laughs and I say "Fess up."
He says (absolutely true) "I know "men" don't talk about this stuff, but it just strikes me as funny. In all the years I've been working here, you're the only guy who'll stand next to me and pee. All the others see me here and turn around and duck into a cubicle."
I laughed, but I had to confess that I'm just Mister Average; hung like neither horse nor cashew, but that I've got no hang-ups about it.
Andy replied that - unlike the racist stereotype - he was Mister Average, too … then he chuckled and added "For my height".
Andy, you bastard! Hee hee.

Actually, the reason I can pee next to anybody is that since I was nine, I've played in bands and you have to hold it in on stage and then dash to the loos during your breaks. Just after the music stops the urinals are always crowded so from a young age I just learned to pee next to much bigger guys as a matter of biological necessity. If I couldn't squeeze one out I'd be in real trouble back on stage.

And "penis envy", what the fuck's all that about?
Listen up, girls. You've got it lucky! You can wear strap-ons. You can choose the size, the shape, the colour, the consistency … er … extra knobbly bits, battery power … whatever …
I'm stuck with a Mister Average pink penis.
If my girlfriend says "Actually, today I fancy an eight inch, see-through purple, slightly squidgy one", then I'm gonna be a disappointment. I only come in one size and flavour.
Women shouldn't have penis envy; men should have strap-on envy.
Or vibey envy.

So … in conclusion:
The penis.
A piece of disgustingly ugly and poorly designed meat that crawls around in your trousers and behaves totally independently of your will.
Intelligent design, my arse!

Mind you; it's the only part of a man that doesn't lie.