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The Body Impolitic: Men & Self-Image

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This just in: women aren't the only ones with body-image issues.

  Your Beloved Author Would Like to Tell You a Story

Me, I come from a long line of cheerily hard-drinking Russian peasant folk. We’re all scrawny and blond, with features that suggest deep, brooding anger or an inclination to suddenly begin spouting out Shakespeare. And while no one in my family can find any proof of baldness, we all have exceedingly high hairlines. My forehead, for example, is large enough to screen a movie on. Imax, no less.

And then there is the matter of my ass. Or the distinct lack of one, as it were. I am quite sure that I, as all humans, was born with an ass. However, over the years, my ass, much like my hairline, has also receded into the ether of wherever it is that assorted body parts go. (I like to imagine a sort of celestial organ farm, where species from all over the universe come to be implanted with human hair, asses, breasts, and musculature.)

I have no ass. There, I said it. But it doesn’t really bother me. I mean, there’s not much I can do about having absolutely no ass. I can’t steal one from a bubble-butted guy. Well, not without him being awfully sore about the whole thing. And I can’t make one, unless I resort to wearing ass-falsies. And the idea of having silicone-baggie gluteal implants stitched into my hind regions isn’t terribly appetizing, nor is it cost-effective. Because I need that money for porn and Diet Shasta.

So what do I do about it? How do I cope with the stunning ignominy of my apparent asslessness?

Well, I take my cue from the Fonz. I sit on it.

  The Body Impolitic

There are three versions of you. The first you is the hybrid image of what the culture around you has placed worth and value on, fed through your receptors, and etched into the recesses of your mind like Dali’s melting clocks. This is the artful you, the ideal you. It is a possible you, but not a likely one. This is the you that is mostly bald, but sprays on a daily coat of canned-hair, thinking it looks real. This is the you that sometimes has problems getting it up, but never lets ‘em down when it counts.

The second you is the image you fantasize about attaining. It is fed by the culture around you, as well as any and all stimuli you introduce to the equation yourself. This is the never-will-be you. This is the you that has a full, swarthy head of hair, and still looks good in a corduroy jacket; the you that never got turned away at the door; the you whose cock is so hefty that you require specially-engineered trousers just to go out in public.

The third you is the you that everybody sees. Well, everybody, that is, except for you. If you have a six-pack, they’ll see the six-pack. If you’re Joe Six-Pack, they’ll see that too – at least the magistrate will, as Joe Six-Pack is a notorious bar-brawler. This is the you that’s just bald. This is the you that sometimes needs a little extra help in getting it up. This is the you that’s just you.

  Your Beloved Author Would Now Like to Answer All Your Questions, from The Book of Man

Let’s revisit those questions, shall we?

If you can reach the beer on the top shelf of the fridge, you’re doing just fine.

Probably not. But in a few years, we’ll all have our own super-robots to take care of our more agonizing tasks. Like taking out the recyclables.

Again; probably not. I have it on good authority that the Alpha Male mold was destroyed the day Steve McQueen died. Besides, we’re too ironic these days to be Alphas. Alpha Males hate irony. And Communists. But especially irony.

If your lover’s not sniggering at it, you’re probably okay. Besides, let’s be honest here –like, secret-of-life kinda of honest: only the most mediocre (at best) lover relies solely on his cock to provide pleasure to his partner, regardless of whether said cock is colossal, infinitesimally small, or gratifyingly average. Remember, boys – your biggest sex organ isn’t the one dangling betwixt your legs. It’s the one between your ears. Thought you might like to know.

Because you don’t wash enough. You can be clean and still be a man. See – we do evolve – go figure!


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