And I don’t mean the nuts behind the wheel. This is the kind of thing you file under “You’ve gotta be frickin’ kidding me.”
As a guy myself, and the parent of a four-year-old boy, I’m aware that the relationship between a man and a particular part of his body start young, is passionate, sometimes obsessive, and (usually) life-long. Entire books have been written about it. I’d recommend A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis for serious reading on the subject, Talking Cock for a more humorous take, and Hung: A Meditation on the Measure of Black Men in America for a different take. (And, yes, I’ve read them all.)
For a little boy, it’s like getting a new toy that you can take with you everywhere you go. But almost immediately after that initial discovery, people start telling you that (a) you can’t play with it everywhere and (b) everyone doesn’t need to see it. (At last, a toy that it’s OK not to share.) It’s not something that grown men should have to be told. It’s one thing for a little boy to run around saying to everyone “Look what I got!” It’s another altogether for a grown man to constantly remind everyone of what he’s got. In fact, it’s enough to make anyone wonder if a guy like that’s got something to prove. Or is trying to compensate for what he hasn’t got, or what he really thinks he hasn’t got enough of.
Needless to say, Freud would have a field day with guys like that. And after checking out the pictures below and reading about the phenomenon that spawned them, he’d probably want to get these guys on the couch for some analysis. After he lit a cigar, of course. (The pics, BTW, may not be quite SFW, so I put them below the fold.)
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