Memo to all you men with the limp, tiny dicks: YOU ARE DUMB.
You couldn't just get over it, could you? You couldn't just buy a sportscar and yell at the mail room guy like your ilk's traditions dictate. No. You had to go and become a market.
And not just any market, no. A market of ULTIMATE IRONY. A market that grows and grows. A market with almost preternatural staying power. A market of length, depth and girth that will not go away no matter how much it's flogged. An inverse penile analogy that would make the late John Holmes say "DAMN!"
As a result, you no longer have to turn to the backs of porn magazines for shady ads for shadier pumps and pills, products where the risk of it turning black and falling off operated as a necessary deterrent. Like a fear hyena culling the herd of its weak members.
Now I've gotta watch fucking Enzyte ads on the Food Network. You've seen 'em. The balding, skinny pusbag with the eternal smile and the giant shoes and the oh so clever innuendos and the blatant racism where the stereotypically small-dicked Japanese businessmen are so awed by Bob's newfound dick-fueled machismo that they submit to whatever Big American Bob wants them to pay.
And you got your Viagra. Hooray. But Viagra wasn't good enough. You had to have Levitra. But Levitra's not good enough either. You had to have Cialis. The thirty-six hour stiffypill.
The list of horrible side effects on this baby would make a grown man cry, which is probably why it's good that it's only marketed to little whining babies who are obsessed with their manparts. Sudden drops in blood pressure when taken with alcohol (seems counterproductive, don't it?) or PRIAPIC ERECTIONS LASTING MORE THAN FOUR HOURS
I don't want anything that lasts more than four hours. I'm terrified of the extended edition of Return of the King. I believe in the importance of federally mandated work breaks. And I certainly don't want to be beplanked for five hours, looking down and wondering "Is this normal?"
But wait, there's more! Headache! Indigestion! Back pain! Muscle pain! The inability to distinguish between BLUE AND GREEN. And then there are the ones they won't even list on their website, that you have to ask your doctor about. You know, assuming you don't die in a car crash on the way to the office because you think all the traffic lights are sales at K-Mart and your penis keeps getting in the way of the steering wheel.
Let me put it this way. You obviously aren't that bright to begin with. Imagine what'll happen if, every 36 hours or so, you pop a pill to send all that brainblood strait to your groin? You'll be EVEN DUMBER. Eventually, we'll be overrun by retarded, naked zombies, clubbing us to death for our pocket change so that they can buy more pills so that they still have clubs to club us with.
Your penis will end civilization as we know it. Best have it removed for the good of society.