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mr micropenis
The scene: The other night Lady Linda Fashion PR and your favourite
Hedonist blagged into this party for Dazed and Confused magazine.
Apparently, there was a competition to see who could
grace the decks with the worst record. Princess Superstar was djing.
Drinks were free. Girls were dressy. Men were gay.
After my fifth rum and coke I got talking to someone,
let's call him, oh, I don't know, Mr Congenital Micropenis. I was
expecting him to be a dj or a t-shirt customiser like all the other
men in Shoreditch. But in fact, Mr Micropenis has a proper job.
In fact, Mr Micropenis has the weirdest job in the world.
Mr Micropenis runs a clinic for other Micropenii Men.
For a large sum of money, Mr Micropenis will arrange for your penile
tendon to be severed. For another large sum of money. Mr Micropenis
will ensure that fat is lipo-sucked out of your lovehandles and
injected into the base of your cock. Your girth, alleges Mr M, will
increase by up to one and three-quarter inches. Your length, (with
efficient post-operative use of the weight device) can increase
by up to two. And Mr M, apparently, is walking proof that Phalloplasty
- for that is its name - is an efficient and effective method of
penis enlargement.
As you can imagine, when he told me all this, my jaw
was on the floor. Mr M assured me that even with my mouth that wide
I would never fit it all in. I contemplated slinging my drink over
him but fuck it, this was research.
And then Mr M reached into his pocket and produced
a snapshot of his very own Congenital Micropenis.
Here's the pic (sorry about quality, crappy seethru
digital camera):
So I'm ogling the photograph. Said penis sure is petite;
it's next to a packet of Camels for comparison, hard as it's ever gonna get, and
the li'l helmetty bit doesn't even extend past the end of the packet. I mean,
like, bless. That poor, poor man. Which is when Mr Macro starts telling me about
all the stuff he tried to make that sweet ding-dong grow....next
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