April 15, 2013
Four Ruminations on My Cock
Is this a great country? Or what?
Exceedingly late to the scene, I only recently started watching Season
One of Hung, the HBO buddy drama about a huge, extroverted cock and the clueless high
school basketball coach it deigns to drag around with it.
One episode closed with a playing of a rap song titled “My Dick” by an august personage named Mickey Avalon, a choice stanza of which goes like this:
My dick - locked in a cage, right
Your dick suffer from stage fright
My dick - so hot, it's stolen
Your dick look like Gary Coleman
The series—and more personal events, which I will explain anon—led me to
ruminate on my own cock, as if I needed any excuse to do that.*
Cock vs. Dick
Linguistics journals are choc-a-bloc with studies that seek to determine
exactly where we can draw the geographic line between, say, the realm of “soda” and that of “pop.” But to my knowledge, no one has explored the much more explosive and,
frankly, interesting question of what causes people to opt for “cock” or
My ongoing research, largely internet-based, leads me to postulate that
this line is more ethnic than geographic, with "unabashedly Caucasian"
Americans opting for cock while dick predominates among Asian porn stars, African-American rappers, and Caucasians
wishing to sound African-American (cf Avalon, Mickey).
My dick parts the seas
Your dick farts and queefs
My dick - rumble in the jungle
Your dick got touched by your uncle
Personally, I just can’t countenance addressing my favorite part by a name
that conjures images of foul-mouthed Republican bullies. Not coincidentally, it is also a homonym for an unpleasant person. Cock generates a much higher Q score. I think I can state with confidence that
there is no male in the English-speaking world named "Cock" or
whose given name consists in any small part of "Cock," although
in many regions it is customary for junior high school boys to try to persuade
naïve substitute teachers that there is. **
And at the end of the day (which is probably when you would say such things,
anyway), “Suck my dick” will always sound like a growled epithet, whereas
“Suck my cooooock” is a whispered distillation of languid, consensual,
shimmering hope. Advantage: Cock.
Cocks, Compulsive Drawing of
The movie Superbad ends with a gag about a species of OCD that causes a character to compulsively
draw cocks on everything. It turns out that this is not a recognized psychological
disorder, but you could have fooled me—or anyone else who has set foot
in the boys’ room of a high school anywhere in the world, for that matter.
How many janitors throughout history have spontaneously combusted in the
midst of trying to scour the stalls on their beat cock-free? And yet, those
cocks keep coming back, year after year, ever erect, often in the throes
of joyful and bountiful orgasm.
In sophomore English back in '71, we used readers that were randomly doled
out to us at the start of class and left in the room at the end. We spent
a large chunk of the semester covering Julius Caesar. The script of the play was supplemented by numerous photos of obscure,
toga-clad actors who looked like they all had hangovers—expressions which
contrasted sharply with the ludicrously enormous boners that had been bestowed
on them in one very special edition. Where Caesar ought to be warily informing
Brutus that yon Cassius reads much and is therefore very dangerous, this
rendition of the ancient scene has Caesar musing, improbably, “Beat my
meat on the toilet seat, doo-dah, doo-dah” while ejaculating (with surprising
vigor and range for a man of his years) into Cassius’s famously lean and
At N. University, my former employer in Japan, there was an infamous blackboard
that was removed from a large lecture hall and deposited in the passageway
just outside its doors. Presumably, the thing had to be replaced because
some vandal had painted cocks on it. Specifically, eight upward-pointing,
disembodied cocks—from left to right, each one longer and skinnier than
its neighbor, so that the effect was like a church pipe organ, except that
all eight pipes were simultaneously hurling fountains of semen into the
I assumed that the blackboard was to be hauled off to the dump, but that
there had been some miscommunication that resulted in its resting there
in a very public place for days on end. And then the mystery deepened as
the days turned to months. It just sat there, unremarked upon in any faculty
meeting that I knew of, making a busy and naturally narrow pedestrian thoroughfare
all that narrower, forcing passersby, most of them female, not only to
notice the artwork but to pause beside it, however against their will.
It became a landmark, a veritable Stonehenge of Perpetually Spewing Cocks.
At some point in the second year of its exhibition, when no one else was
around, I leaned over and touched one of the members. I did this with no
small amount of trepidation, for the "work" (as some had come
to think of it) had achieved a veneer of veneration by then, as people
and things who linger too long at universities are prone to do.The cock
smeared at my touch.
I discovered that the phalli weren’t painted on the blackboard at all,
but merely drawn thickly, with great determination, in chalk. Anyone at
anytime could have obliterated the whole work in seconds with a damp cloth.
Personally, I can honestly say that I’ve never gotten into the swing of
things, drawing-cocks-on-things-wise. However, I do take an inordinate
amount of pleasure in saying “My cock” when alone. I’ll be puttering about the apartment or my office on a weekend, and just start muttering, “My cooooooooooock” without thinking.
Isn’t that the damnedest thing? I mean, isn’t that just the god-damnedest thing you ever heard?
My dick - been there done that
Your dick sits there with dunce cap
My dick - V.I.P.
Your shit needs I.D.
Our Local Cock Festival, Pictured Above
Think Americans are the most cock-obsessed people on earth? Check out this holy ritual not far from my neighborhood.
Everyone should have an annual cock-appreciating festival within easy driving
distance. Everyone. I do feel strongly about this.
The Latest News in Cock (Mine)
Some weeks ago I began to feel a discomfort of sorts in the interior of
my cock. It wasn’t severe enough to make me dread trips to the bathroom
or keep me up at night, nor did any unseemly substances begin emerging
from it—but too much time spent on the wrong websites convinced me that
these unpleasantries were only a matter of time. This hard-to-describe
vague symptom came and went, but served nicely to feed my paranoia, since
I had carelessly indulged in a certain experience that might well have
been the cause not all that long before.
Three negative test results later, the symptom has all but faded away,
and I’ve been assured that its proximity in time to what I have heard someone
on NPR describe as a “poor lifestyle choice” is entirely coincidental.
So, yay. Lucked out again.
During the worrisome period, though, being unable—or at least, unwilling—to
disturb my cock by asking it to perform anything but its urinary function,
I had time to view it objectively for once, with a renewed appreciation.
It has served me superbly lo, these fifty-seven years—including forty-four
ejaculatory years and thirty-nine sexually active ones—without complaint.
According to one website, it has been spurting out ejaculate of the highest caliber in a most pleasing
manner since before there were smoke detectors, digital music, or waffle-soled
shoes. It once measured over eight inches when I mashed the end of the
tape painfully into my pubic region and ran it along the long side of the
It is one of the very few body parts that one can teach to do tricks. The
pancreas does what it does, and God bless it for that, but you can't toss
a tiddly-wink with it. Regarding its most pleasant function, as recently
as last month my cock could perform it three times in a single night, so
long as it is a night on Jupiter.
It has done all of this for me without a peep of protest, until this recent scare.
Old friend, enjoy the remaining down time. You’ve earned it. Henceforth,
I vow to keep you well out of harm’s way. It is the least I can do for
Dear readers, it’s the least you can do for yours as well.
My dick need no introduction
Your dick don't even function
My dick served a whole lunch -in
Your dick - it look like a munchkin...
April 19 Addendum
While not specifically relevant to my cock, all this cock-talk belatedly provoked the memory of this classic moment from Deadwood. Who even knew that "cock-breath" was a thing? Or that there
could be more than one flavor of it?
If anyone out there is contemplating starting a band, I urge you to seize
upon "Seven Kinds of Cock-Breath" before somebody else snags
|* Some wag out there is aching to point out the fact that the verb “ruminate”
comes from the root verb “to chew on.” So, just to clarify: No, I did not
chew on my own cock. But I would if I could, and so would you, wag, if
you have one.
|** That’s not to say that there are no cocks in the phone book, though. Perpend:
* Courteney Cox
* Jay Cocks (critic)
* Olivia Cockburn (birthname of Olivia Wilde)
* John Hancock (Declaration signer and inducer of giggle-fits in countless generations of male social studies pupils)
How would it feel to hit it off with a beautiful young actress, and, just
as things between you are warming up nicely, you discover that her name
is Cockburn? No, no, let me shun that. That way, madness lies...