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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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