Donald Trump and the Republican candidates, recently in a debate, held up their hands, basically claiming that hand size was a corollary to penis size. To see them all up there comparing hands, instead of discussing public policy was novel, to say the least. It did bring up an interesting question, however. What must women do to determine whether or not a man had the kind of cock they’d want to ride?
For men, this is mostly easy. We can see fairly straightforwardly whether a woman possesses the sexual characteristics we seek. Sure, the grip of her vagina is always a mystery until the moment happens, but whether we’re shoe-horning a size 18 foot into a size 9 shoe or throwing a Vienna sausage into the Grand Canyon, we’re not too picky. Adam Sandberg rightly points out, in the song, “I Just Had Sex”, “I'm so humbled by a girl’s ability to let me do her, cuz honestly I'd have sex with a pile of manure”.
For women, it’s different. They only get to know what they’re getting, by and large (pardon the pun), when it’s virtually too late to turn back. So what can a woman do to make sure that, when she does the barebacked mambo with a man, she’s getting every inch she wants and needs? I mean, if she’s not going to get equal pay with men, she at least needs to get her satisfaction somewhere right?
There are ways a woman might tell whether or not a man is well-endowed. Some women have attributed their ability to determine dick size to a kind of 6th sense, a sort of “just knowing”, if you will.
One woman I talked with explain it thus. “I just know in my gut.”
To which, I replied, “How far up in your gut?”
She said, smirking, “You know what I meant.”
Some women (and men like the Donald) think their fingers have something to do with it. Said one woman I asked, “I’ve heard you can tell by comparing his index finger to his ring finger. If the index is longer, he’s big. I read it on some scientific site. It’s a quaint idea, but I promise, it’s not usually true.”
Some women believe height and overall physical size play into this. One friend of mine said, “I’ve found that tall men have big dicks. It makes sense, right, proportionally? Also, men with big feet. They have big dicks too.” This was, however contradicted by another friend, an ex, who told me, “I was always thought that tall guys had big dicks, but in my experience, the opposite has been true.” When asked about the penis to foot connection she added, “Well I know you wear size 8 and a half shoes, and you lack nothing in the genital department. If relationships were just about cocks, we’d probably still be together. The problem with your penis wasn’t its size, but that it was attached to the rest of you.”
That firm (pardon the pun) critique aside, she provides solid (yes, another pun) evidence to counter the theory that dick and foot sizes are related.
There are then, among women as among most cops, the racial profilers. Said one female acquaintance of mine, “Arabs, Turks, and black guys. That’s where the real meat is.” Still then, there is anecdotal evidence to counter these assumptions too. Another woman I know claimed to have had sex with a black man who had a four incher. She added, “I once fucked a Chinese guy, and you know, people say Asians all have small wangs (was that a pun?), but this man, well he fucking impaled me. It was monstrous.”
So, it’s a quagmire for women, and it’s got to be frustrating for them, to get into the bedrooms, the back seats of cars, the basements of parents’ houses, and the bathrooms at dance clubs only to discover that this one is too big, that one is too small, and that, for that night, there will be no such things is just right. With that in mind, I offer the results of my own, carefully conducted research to help women meet men who have the right tools for their jobs.
It all comes down to this. He who must out-man other men is compensating for something, and almost invariably, he is compensating for feelings of inadequacy about his penis. For you ladies out there, wanting to know the difference between the large and the small men out there, understand this. If he is living the cliché of masculinity, he could be comparing dicks with tsetse flies, and he’d lose. The inadequacy he feels about his penis is also in direct proportion to how far he has to go to live up to every stereotype of machismo there is.
So, let’s start with his car.
If he’s driving a Hummer, especially one decked out like it’s an overgrown Hotwheels car, he knows that while other men have sledges in their pants, he’s got a simple rock hammer. The Hummer is the chief vehicle for the man most insecure about the mini corn dog in his shorts, but big trucks come in close second. Now, there are men who do jobs that require a pick-up. Generally speaking, if they’re actually hauling things, this lets them off the hook, but if it’s shiny, and you can tell that the heaviest thing that’s been in the bed of the thing was a grill and a cooler full of bear, then they are significant inches away from satisfying the ladies, especially if they’ve got modified exhaust and dual wheels in the back.
But a car doesn’t have to be big to be a form of penile compensation. Oh no. It can be loud and obnoxious too. If someone took a normal Honda and made it look like something out of Tron, what swims in his Speedos is a minnow, compared to other men’s whales. If the car makes a sound like the long-sustained fart of someone who’d eaten nothing but Taco Bell all week, and you can hear that sound from blocks away, he needs a microscope and a roach clip to jack himself off. This goes for boys on their super loud, super speedy motorcycles too. There’s a reason these are called crotch rockets, and it’s because, for these poor lads, it’s the only exciting thing they’ll ever have between their legs.
And for men who lack the fundamental “muscle”, there are muscle cars. In a Super Bowl ad for the Dodge Challenger, known as “Man’s Last Stand” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pV-4VJDqyt0), it is suggested the men who feel emasculated by efforts to satisfy the emotional, non-sexual needs of their wives, should drive their big, loud, powerful car. Could there be anything closer to an admission of the fact that the car is compensation than that? And when a men gets behind the wheel of such a monster, every time her revs the engine, he’s shouting to the world, “I’m got nothing more than an Oompa Loompa in my nether region!”
Insane obsession with athletics is another way that men compensate for having tiny tadgers. For some men, this means getting out there to play rugby, soccer, hockey and what have you, getting bloodied doing it, bloodying others along the way, and working tirelessly to get to have bragging rights about how buff and tuff they are. They hope that big pecs and biceps will make a woman ignore their eentsie weentie wittle wonder wands, and there’s no doubt, it can get a woman through the door, but at the end of the day, if there’s no dot on that “I”, if it’s only eggs without bacon, if it’s all cape and no powers, she won’t be coming back for seconds. The men who flex their muscles to mask their smallness are to be avoided, Ladies.
Worse, however, are the men obsessed with sports who are nothing more than frothing-at-the-mouth-spectators. They buy every kind of NFL, NBA, NHL, MMA, UFC, and god forbid, yes, PGA paraphernalia and display the gaudy swag as though each item they’ve spent insane amounts of money on belongs in a sacred temple. These men, though they live hundreds of miles away from where their favorite teams compete, claim on Mondays by the water cooler, “We won last weekend” as if they, themselves had somehow played a greater part in the game than swilling beer, downing nachos, scratching their nuts and shouting at their giant-screen wall TVs until their voices are more gravely then the roads on Indian reservations. They actually cry when their teams lose in championships, all because, at the end of the day they felt the need to form a religion around sports, lacking the kind of penis that could actually get them involved in living real life. They’re obvious to spot, ladies, because their shirts have numbers on them, they don’t shut up about the shit, and they’ve got memorabilia everywhere.
After cars and sports, there are guns. This is not to say that a man who owns a gun has a small pecker, but men who are wildly preoccupied with guns, well, Tom Thumb is better hung. Signs that a man has a small dick include a gun rack in his truck, bumper stickers indicating NRA membership and also bearing such slogans as “You can have my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead hands” and “Charleton Heston is my President”. If he’s going to gun shows, and he’s not selling, there’s no magic in his wand. You don’t need to know much about Freud to know what a man with a closet full of rifles and pistols is trying to hide.
The worst kind of gun nut is the hunter. In the movie, My Cousin Vinnie, the character, Mona Lisa Vito says it best. “Imagine you're a deer. You're prancing along, you get thirsty, you spot a little brook, you put your little deer lips down to the cool clear water... BAM! A fuckin bullet rips off part of your head! Your brains are laying on the ground in little bloody pieces! Now I ask ya. Would you give a fuck what kind of pants the son of a bitch who shot you was wearing?” The whole idea of sneaking up an animal and shooting it is ludicrous. It is the very definition of the unfair fight. Hunters are the murderous bullies of woods and jungles everywhere, and when they “bag” animals, taking “victory” selfies with them, stuffing them, and mounting them on their walls, they are basically telling the entire universe, “I have to kill innocent, helpless critters because most women have bigger clitorises than my prick.”
Other men who have small dicks? Well, here’s a short list (pun intended).
Men who beat their wives.
Men who train pit bulls to be mean.
Men who share pictures of the big fishes they caught.
Men who join fraternities.
Metrosexuals.
Men who like to watch other men fight.
Men who like to watch animals fight.
Men who like fighting.
Men who love war.
Most cops.
Most soldiers.
Men who worry about their hair.
Men who think the strippers actually like them.
Most men who run for political office.
Men who are voting for Donald Trump.
Ladies, if you meet a man who drives a Prius, a Hyndai, a Kia, a Mini Cooper, or basically an ordinary sedan, he’s not compensating. If he’ll go to a symphony, or ballet, or the theatre without complaint, he may have the right sausage for your grill. If he owns a dog like a beagle, or a dachshund, or a retriever, his red rocket will fly just fine. Chihuahuas, poodles, shiatzus, or bichon frizzes might mean he’s gay, but at least he won’t have a thimble for a penis. If he owns a cat, it doesn’t matter. Cats are evil. He’s a loser.
If he has empathy, and he doesn’t talk about war like it’s the Superbowl, he’ll likely have a Snickers that really satisfies. If he can actually miss the Superbowl when it’s on TV, even better. He goes from regular Sinkers to jumbo. If he treats you with respect, hates having arguments and knows how to compromise flexibly, the man is probably very comfortable with the meat loaf he could put into your oven.
The more a man respects life, the more wonderful his member must be. Now I’m not talking about fetuses. There’s a world full of people who want to rescue fetuses, all the while supporting the death penalty and every war the military industrial complex can manufacture. The women who do it want to punish other women for enjoying sex, and the men who do it, well, they all have mini pickles for peckers. No, I’m talking about men who are concerned with the suffering of Syrian refugees, the plight of the poor and the homeless, the struggles of the elderly, the education of the young, and the pain of the people who suffer terrorist attacks on other lands where people worship different gods and have different colored skin. These men, the ones who really care about the lives of others, might only get in trouble because they get falsely accused of shoplifting salami at the grocery store. Nothing to compensate for there.
In the end, people like Napoleon and Hitler, men who felt the need to violently dominate the world, are well-known to have been compensating. The myth is that Napoleon was short, but that’s not true. He was about 6 feet tall, believe it or not. What history does tell us is that, rather than having short man syndrome, he had short schlong syndrome. And Hitler’s mustache was probably twice the length of his wiener schnitzel.
I could tell one day, driving to work, that I had found a man with a very small dick, possibly the smallest dick on the planet. I didn’t see his face, and lord knows, I didn’t need to literally pull his pants down and see it for myself. He was driving a Hummer, tricked out in every way imaginable, with faux camouflage. He had a huge Tap Out bumper sticker in the center of his rear window. On the left side of his window, he had one of those series of stickers people put there to indicate the size of his family. In his case, he and his wife were represented by two Ak-47s, while his five children were represented by pistols. On the right side of his rear window, he had a picture of a pit bull wearing a spiked collar. His bumper read, “Unleash the Military: Give War a Chance”, “Up yours, Obama”, and “Real men love Jesus” (and don’t get me started on the many things men are compensating when they have to put their religion on display, beyond simply having a cock that makes Verne Troyer’s seem like John Holmes’).
Ladies, if you see this man, or men like him, move on. It would be easier to study microbes than to find his Johnson. Ultimately, ladies what’s the best way to know whether or not a man is endowed to your level of expectation?
It’s simple. If he is a dick, he has a small one. It isn’t any more complicated than that.
That’s the long and short if. Yes, pun intended.