July 5. 2002 *
HUMOR
..................... ▼......................
Growing pains
Cock-a-doodle-don’t
Specializing in Oregon & Washington
Full Time Professional Employees
>124
O
ne of the best perks of writing a column is
receiving e-mails from fans, particularly
those who have the good sense to send
nude pictures. It was under these circum
stances that 1 first encountered Jonathyn
Andrews.
Jonathyn is obviously a young man of the
most discriminating good taste (he likes my
column, after all), but I soon discovered there
was more to him as well.
A lot more.
I clicked on the link to his Web site,
JonathynAndrews.com, and immediately
shouted to my partner, Floyd, to come take a
look. “Geez,” he said, staring at the screen,
“you could hang towels on that thing.”
The ancient Greeks disdained large penises
because they thought they represented a lack of
self-control. I suppose they have a point. 1 cer
tainly don’t have any self-control around large
penises. More is more, as far as I’m concerned.
At this point I’m sure any lesbians left read
ing this article are rolling their lesbian eyes and
wondering, “Why is it gay men are so obsessed
with penis size?”
Well, for starters, it’s not just gay men. All
men are obsessed
with size. The
Great Pyra
mids, Notre
Dame, the 32-
ounce Big
Gulp— it doesn’t
matter, that’s just
our thing. I’m
sure if women
had a piece of
their anatomy
that hung out
side themselves
and inflated half
a dozen times a
day just by imag
ining Tom Cruise
sitting on Brad
Pitt’s face, you’d
think a lot about
size, too.
I’m right, aren’t I,
fellas? You had to cross your
legs after that last little visual, didn’t you?
Anyway, I made a point of getting to know
Jonathyn better, all in the name of investiga
tive journalism, of course. (That’s just me,
y’know, work, work, work all the time.)
For those of you who haven’t dropped this
paper already and run to your computers to
search for the site, I’ll describe Jonathyn for
you. He’s tall, handsome and very skinny.
How skinny? Well, let’s just say his penis is
thicker than his wrist. With his semi-erect
member hanging between his legs he resem
bles a tripod.
He tells me he’s somewhere in the double
digits, depending on how he measures it.
Regardless, I’m impressed. If I wanted to mea
sure in the double digits, I’d have to start in the
middle of my back.
I ask Jonathyn all kinds of probing ques
tions (pun intended), like whether he’s capable
of autofellatio.
“Back when I was 13,” he answers.
“Not as flexible, now, huh?” I ask.
“N o,” he says. “Ever since then I’ve been
able to find someone else to do it for me.”
Figures.
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onathyn puts me in touch with Marc Stew
art, a former “Falcon Superstar” who lives
right here in Portland. Obviously there’s
some Big Dick Clique I don’t know about.
(Note to self: Get on mailing list.)
Stewart’s reputation precedes him— by
about 12 inches— so, naturally, I’m eager to
speak with him. He turns out to be sweet and
shy, and he frequently uses “LOL” in his
e-mails, which, even though I know means
“laugh out loud,” always conjures up the image
of someone lolling about.
We meet in the flesh, though not in the
nude. Marc is surprisingly small and slight and
LOLs in a way you don’t expect from a pom
star. He goes on at length (sorry, couldn’t
resist) about the downside of having a penis
as long as his forearm— like how hard it is
(last pun, I promise) to find underwear, pants
and condoms that fit, for instance.
More impor
tantly, though, is
finding a person
who’ll fit.
Marc tells
me how
one roman
tic night
ended with a
trip to the emer
gency room
because his date
starting bleeding
internally.
“ I have to
take part of the
blame,” he
says. “I know
I have a
tendency to
get a bit car
ried away
while in the throes o f passion.”
I’m thinking he needs to register that thing,
like a gun. “I should have known better,” he
says to me, sounding just a little sad, like a kid
who’s got a new baseball bat but no one to play
ball with.
I call Jonathyn later to tell him about Marc,
and he says he understands. “I once had a guy
get into bed with me, take one look at it and
say, ‘What am I supposed to do with that thing,
water my lawn?’ ’’
Indeed, he says people often treat him like a
penis with a person attached to it. Then again,
one might argue that posting dozens of pickle
shots on the Web does invite the treatment.
But still, after talking to these guys, I start
to feel sorry for them, cursed as they are with
an anatomy that can be so awkward and
uncomfortable. How unfortunate for them, eh ?
Yeah, right. Lucky stiffs.
And that, my friends, is The Gospel
According to Marc. JD
J
M arc AcrTOs column now appears regularly m
10 papers across the country. Keep sending those
pix to m arcacitc@ attbi.com .
w w w .ocom .edu
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