Junque Means Dick
I wasn’t going to write a blog today. You all can thank Prime Time Emmy for goading me into it. I was going to post something old and pass it off as new. Of course, no one has ever read some of the old shit, so it’s kinda like it’s new, but it’s not; it’s old. I have about thirty articles I’ve written for you guys that I’ve never posted, but I get shit from some people that the dates don’t match up. Why am I telling you all this? I have no idea, but the Pantera cover of “Electric Funeral” that I’m listening to right now kicks ass. So there’s that.
Much to the dismay of my very good friend Jenny (this thing is full of shout outs today), I’m going to write about another news story. Jenny reads my shit every week, and grows tired of the news stories sometimes. I’m still telling you shit that doesn’t matter. Let’s get to the rant.
I was on kansascity.com today for...some reason. There, I fond an article that talked about genital piercings on men. Naturally, I was interested. In the piercings, not the man dicks. I’m straight, guys. Sorry. But first, let’s talk about Kansas City. Kansas City is a city in Kansas. Kansas is a run by democrats, is the thirty-fourth state in this great union, and people there are known as Kansans. Also, it is the birthplace of Amelia Earhart, the late Dennis Hopper, and Dorothy Gale, who is famous for getting swept to the wonderful land of Oz during a tornado. We all remember her and her stupid dog and insensitivity toward the plight of the circus freaks that simply asked for her help.
The Kansas City Star is the foremost conduit for news to literate Kansans. In this paper of news, I read a piece written by Thomas H. Maugh II (the sequel is never as good) about dudes and dick piercings. Mr. Part Two waxed on a study done about junque mods that tried to ascertain who has what in his who-ha. Whatever. Not terribly interesting unless you consider the frame of reference in which Maugh (which sounds like a sound you make when there’s a play at the plate and your catcher drops the ball) used to share the data.
Before we get there, let’s talk about some wiener mod possibilities. We all know about Prince Albert mods, and reverse PA’s (my buddy Big Gay Joe has one, and yes, that’s another shout out), but some of the others that look fun include the frenum, ampallang, guiche, and dydoe. The frenum is super easy. I used to have one. It just goes through the flesh. The others pass through the urethra, and require a bit of skill if you don’t want your meat fuct up. As always, know your artist, know your mod, and do it for you, not because your whore girlfriend wants to feel surgical steel across her button.
Back to the Kansas City Star article. The study that the article outlined assessed the type of cat getting mods in his dick. The problem I have with the article starts with the title, and then continues the insensitivity into the introductory paragraph. The title of the article is “Most men with genital piercings don’t fit the stereotypes.” Here, we are made to assume that a certain type of person has wang mods. It’s a subtle assumption, but it’s there nonetheless. Mr. Thomas H. Maugh, The Return, writes in his first paragraph, “Most men with genital piercings don't fit into the usual stereotype of bikers, druggies or Goths, researchers said Monday. In fact, most who responded to a survey are nearly middle-aged, middle class married men, according to an online study performed by researchers from Texas Tech University.”
“The usual stereotype” is the phrase that caught my eye first. We’ll get to “druggies or Goths” in a second. The usual stereotype of what exactly? What do unmodded people think those who mod their genitals are like? The air of surprise with which this dude began the follow up, “In fact…” tells me that the results of the study vex his sensibilities and assumptions. At what point did those with dick piercings degenerate in social stature to those with holeless wieners? Well, except the whole were the pee pee comes out. The writer of this nonsense cites sexual satisfaction, a desire to take risks, and the satisfaction of rebellion as reasons why the traditionally unmodded folks would lean toward a genital piercing. I won’t even address how tiresome this ‘need for rebellion’ thing has gotten, but to me, it makes much more sense that those with more corporate lifestyles and aesthetic demands are the ones who mod things like penises and nipples and clits and such. These mods are hidden, and only allowed to be shared with those with whom we are most comfortable or intimate. You can’t really go into a board meeting to show your stupid graphs to old men whose decisions dictate your quarterly raise if you have two inch lobes and a two gauge labret plug. That’s just not the society we live in, so how do these people who wish to become a part of our beautiful and accepting culture participate? Dick mods. Makes perfect sense to me. Like those cats with tattooed ‘business sleeves’ that cover the entire arm, but stop just before their designer French cuffs.
To juxtapose the list of people that the writer of this article assumes would have penis piercings with what follows is also insulting. He lists some unsavory cats who are traditionally accepted as those in the modified culture, then as a point of comparison, he lists “middle aged, middle class married men.” The reason why the latter is effective is because he set it up with a point of reference that is very much not like the conclusion. It’s effective writing, but it is also insulting to those of us within the culture who don’t subscribe to either, and it is also rude to those “middle aged, middle class married men” who don’t deserve to be compared to the connotations that come with “bikers [and] druggies…” The biker thing has to stop too. Yeah, there are some rough and frightening bikers, but there are also people who can’t be shoehorned into that category either. Like my sister, who is a biker and the next shout out in this rant. And druggies? When did the modified community stereotype stretch to the culture of drugs?
The article ventures next into the complications of dick piercings, referencing a doctor to legitimize the stupidly small percentage of people who experience complications listed such as, “bleeding after sex,” “priapism,” and “gangrene.” Gangrene? Are you fucking kidding me? Who is walking around with a gangrenous cock from a piercing? Fuck that idiot; let his dick fall off for letting it get gangrenous. Also touched on is the ever popular, go-to comment by unmodded people about how some men need to sit down to pee after being modified. Don’t worry, Thomas H. Maugh II, the emasculation isn’t lost. Well done.
The rest of the article shares the raw data from the study, such as forty-one percent are married, and eighty-two percent are hetro, and twenty percent have a graduate or doctorate degree.
Why am I writing about this? Well, a couple of reasons. One is that as much as we try to believe that we live in a progressively accepting society, there are some things that have remained taboo since that slut Eve persuaded Adam to chomp on the fruit of knowledge. Your dick or your puss will always be a thing of social shame, and anything you do with it will be compared to the yardstick of convention and social acceptance. How many small penis jokes are effective? It is a point of shame. Our baby making parts will always be a something that causes unrest in our society. If it were something that could be more openly talked about and accepted as just another body part, then we would see nudity on television, and it would have less of an impact. Whatever you do with your dick or your vagina is your business. You want to pierce it? Awesome. You want to slather peanut butter in there so your dog can keep you from another lonely Friday night? Go to town. The point is, whatever you do with it doesn’t put you in a category or a scene like biker, druggie, or Goth. And how did Goth get in there? The last I checked, our bodies are the only things that are truly our own, and we ought to be able to do whatever we’d like with them regardless of what class, race, or financial tax bracket we fall into. Stay beautiful, kids.
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