Well, first of all, the penis is approximately four and a half feet long. Wait, hold on, I have the official Guinness measurements right here… uh, ah yes. 137.22 centimeters length and 98.41 centimeters girth. Yep. I would have the record, but apparently there’s a man in India… and y’know.
I have to wear special pants. They’re poly-blend with a double-reinforced inseam and they have a… like a nylon pouch, almost, which houses the phallus and attaches to the left leg with Velcro. I’ve only got one pair – navy blue – because they cost eight hundred dollars to make and my health insurance doesn’t cover it. Because there is no precedent. Y’know, sometimes… I have to do without.
It’s not fun, you see. My penis drags along the ground because it’s longer than my leg. I would have to be over eight feet tall to properly accommodate it. The good news is that apparently there is a loophole in the local indecent exposure laws, so if something peeks from the duct tape apparatus inside my XXXL sweatpants, there’s no hassle, not that anyone would know what it is anymore if they saw it. The tip is kind of gray and lumpy… it gets infected so easily. Some days I come home and there’s just an enormous, pus-filled blister that wasn’t there during that morning’s smeg hunt. Yeah, you see I have to clean the secretions out of my rather large foreskin every morning. I was never circumcised. I could never be circumcised.
No, I can’t have erections. If I ever were to become erect, the blood loss would surely kill me, or at least drop me into a severe coma. I have to take special pills to prevent becoming erect. When I first saw the doctor, I had her check to see if it was, perhaps, a tumor that could be removed, but no, turns out it’s all meat. Also, it seems that my kidneys have descended into the shaft and if I did have my penis surgically reduced, they would fail and I’d have to be on dialysis for the rest of my life.
There was this one doctor who had a theory that perhaps my member was an epigastric parasite, a conjoined twin that failed in the womb, only placed in my groin, and so it masqueraded as a penis. The other doctors don’t agree with him, but I kind of like to. Y’know, in the mornings, when I’m lifting my penis up in the harness above my toilet to urinate out of the hole the doctors put to facilitate my bladder, I like to think, “At least I’m not him.”
My urethra is quite large. I’ve never had any problems with evacuating kidney stones. That’s a blessing. But once, I did have a family of mice living in there for a while…
My balls? Oh, they’re mostly normal. Tucked away. Although, my left testicle is a bit oversized and my right is splintered into what my urologist has deemed a “teste cluster,” which is incredibly rare. I guess I’m just lucky.
Do I have a name for it? What, like, Mr. Happy or something? Yeah, sure. How ‘bout Mr. Horrible? Scratchy, Lumpy Beast-Shlong. Leaky STD Boat. The Ironic Virginator. Constant, Agonizing Burden In The Unending Shitshow That Is My Life. How about those? Because that’s what it is! Jealous?