Monday, April 16, 2012

Penoplasty

My Hotmail account is a mess.

I have no idea which websites I have visited to precipitate the tsunami of spam I receive every day but judging from their content some must have been adult in nature. Every day I am offered everything a computer algorithm thinks a man of my age and surfing habits could ever want; Rolex watches, Motorbikes, Russian Brides, drugs - no prescription required, easy money making schemes and products which will add anything between 2 to 6 inches to my penis.

I would to take this opportunity to state, for the record, if any computer program is listening, that I do not need a fake Rolex watch, I already have a job, I cannot ride a motorbike and I don’t like Russians per se, so the thought of actually marrying one isn’t an attractive proposition. I also have no need, yet, for any funny little blue pills which will either help keep me up all night or stop me from wetting myself if I cough or sneeze.

I am however very interested in the offer of an extra 2 to 6 inches…

Not because I actually want my penis to be any longer, its fine as it is, or at least I think it is. No I am mildly interested in the how and the why. If I was to imagine being, lets say for arguments sake 6 inches longer, I can only think it would be more of a hindrance than anything else. Surely it would start getting in the way of stuff. How would I, for example wear shorts for sport without ‘showing’? Or how exactly does one ride a bike with something that long? I don’t want the trouble and forgive me for my naivety but I wouldn’t quite know what to do with it all.

I saw a documentary some time ago about men who actually put themselves under the surgeons knife to do exactly what these spam emails are offering me, but they did it for real.

Penoplasty, as I have just found out, is the official name of the procedure which offers to lengthen and widen a man’s self-esteem. They would pay to have some fat from their arse, for some reason I imagine men who want to do this have plenty of spare fat on their arse, injected into their penis. A simple and quick procedure and hey presto, a couple of extra inches. Sounds simple really, what could go wrong? Within weeks, once the stitches were removed and they stopped walking like John Wayne they would happily be sporting a package most men would die for. No longer would they be the laughing stock of the locker room and beautiful women would start winking at them as they walked through a restaurant or casino wearing tight trousers.

Well, actually no, not really.

It was horrible and funny in equal measure. I found myself wincing and then almost wetting myself with laughter at these stupid, stupid, stupid men as they wept on screen describing the horrors which followed what was a totally unnecessary procedure. I could understand if these men really had issues in the underwear department, if they, genuinely had the appendage of a shrew but they didn’t. No they were normal men, normally sized. They did it for reasons which baffle me, they wanted to stand tall in the gym and, believe it or not, at the urinal.

There’s a number of things I don’t get about this, firstly what the fuck ever made you think letting a man with a knife or needle anywhere near your nether regions was a good thing and secondly if you did, why would you go on the telly and admit it, then cry?

I don’t get plastic surgery at all for that matter.

Perhaps I am fortunate enough to have an average everything. I am not overweight, I still have all my hair, I am average height, have average looks, an average build and have an averagely sized…well you know. Perhaps its this which stops me from feeling sympathy or empathy or whatever with the people who have low self esteem from their body shape and feel the need to cut something off or tack something on.

I would have understood if the elephant man had wanted to try a little botox or a nip here and tuck there but normal people? I mean normal everyday people who look normal? This is what I don’t get.

Why go to the trouble of getting liposuction when you can eat some lettuce, stop eating takeaways, stop watching telly every night and do something physical a few times a week. It’s really, really, not that hard. Put it this way most people aren’t born grossly overweight and I have yet to meet a big-boned or water-retaining Ethiopian.

Plastic breasts? The ones I have seen, purely in the interests of researching this blog you understand, don’t look like real breasts. They are too round. They look like someone has attached a foot pump and stomped a couple of times. They look silly and I have no idea if they feel real.

A headline I read and will admit I didn’t bother to read the full article, was promoting the next big innovation - a silicone six-pack. I don’t know if this is real or not, but will assume it to be true and now have a picture in my head of a large bellied man with a stick on six pack in a pair of Calvin Klein’s.

It’s just not going to work is it? I could go on, but I think you get my point.

There are some discussions going on at the moment to determine whether the NHS should start picking up the tab for operations such as the ones mentioned above. The argument for it goes along the lines that health isn’t purely about physical health, it encompasses total well being. Given there seems to be a never ending supply of people feeling depressed with the shape and look of their body then surely this also should be treated. This depression could be treated by providing a fat person with liposuction or a gastric band, a wrinkly person with botox, a small chested woman with a silicone foot pump and a man with rodent genitals a fat injection.

Really?

It might not be as simple an argument as I am making out though.
I understand the Gastric Band is one procedure which is offered on the NHS albeit only after some strict criteria have been met – i.e. being fat and too lazy to do anything about it.

Now as I think I have pointed out, being overweight is a lifestyle choice so should the NHS treat for self-inflicted things?

I would have to say yes.

Lifestyle isn’t just all about smokers and fatties, it also covers skiers, divers, runners, pregnancy and pretty much everything you do apart from breathing so where to draw the line?

Also should a severely depressed person be treated on the NHS? Of course they should, but what if the depression is driven by something silly (silly to me that is), like the size of a penis or breasts? Should the doctor tell them to bugger off and only come back when they have a proper illness, like lung cancer?

I don’t actually know the answer to all these questions, I have an inkling of an answer though. It’s a fine tightrope to walk and at what point do you classify something as silly or vanity driven and when do you classify it as a genuine medical complaint?

My suggestion would be this, in instances of lifestyle related illnesses, if its health threatening treat the symptoms but do not treat the root cause. The root cause is a personal thing, i.e. I choose to smoke, eat too much or get depressed looking at other men’s willies in the showers and I can either choose to stop doing it or continue. It’s not really going to stamp out the underlying problem but neither will a nanny state banning extra sized mars bars and hiding cigarettes in shops i.e. the root cause. A nanny state which treats every ‘illness’ genuine or not will definitely not change this, it will only serve to multiply their incidence rates.

I do believe it’s a personal choice to be unhappy, regardless of the rational.

No, the only thing which will work is a sea change in personal responsibility, get a grip of yourself no one else will and I am at a loss as to how to legislate for this.

Finally, I must add that most of the above treatments are not currently offered on the NHS, mostly they are paid for by individuals privately out of their own hard earned cash. For this reason I can’t really moan too much, it is after all, their money and their bodies to do with as they wish. Should they wish to fix a botox grimace on their face or slice bits off their bodies its their own choice, nothing really to do with me.

Also on the plus side it also gives me something to write about, I get to learn cool new words and the schadenfreude moments are truly wonderful.

I wouldnt change that for the world.