I’d like to dedicate this tale to my brother, Shmamie. And no, Shmamie is not a girl’s name. Without his sage brotherly advice, this entire article would’ve been a tyrannical rant about how men are the only true victims of the worldwide epidemic known as forced female genital mutilation (which is what society calls circumcisions when performed on females). And no one wants to read that, except for maybe a handful of oppressive, male tribal leaders.
I hate my penis. It has betrayed me far too many times. It’s worst betrayal was not in the form of a regrettable woman, of which there have been slightly more than a few, but came in the form of a regrettable condition known as phimosis. Phimosis is something that only uncircumcised penises can get. It’s caused by lots of stuff, from dry sex and/or masturbation to just being an unlucky uncircumcised penis and anything in between. Don’t worry, the condition is uncommon. Don’t panic and Nip/Tuck yourself:
The doctor explained that phimosis is when the foreskin gets too tight for the head of the penis to fit through. Of course, I didn’t know any of this when I went to see the dick doc and told him my penis was acting more coy than usual. If it were a groundhog, there’d be six more weeks of winter and my penis would have nothing left to shield itself from the cold. I tried to tell him that maybe my penis had gotten too big for my foreskin, I’ve always been a foreskin half full kind of guy, but he finally convinced me my theory was medically impossible and circumcision was the only option.
Most guys are ashamed of their foreskin. I was the opposite of those guys, to an uncomfortable degree. Damn the man, I wore it like a badge of honor. I made my friends refer to it as fiveskin when it came up in casual conversation, and I made sure to bring it up whenever I felt it appropriate. It rarely mattered how many families at the dog park were calling the police, they were going to know that my penis looked like Merlin’s sleeve and they were going to watch me pull a chihuahua out of it. I was devastated that I had to get circumcised and I was in no way comforted by the fact that my advanced age made a full circumcision too risky. Who knew one of the benchmarks of manly adulthood would be necessarily restrictive genital surgery. We decided not to risk it, and only cut off about half my foreskin. I’m approximately two skins lighter. I’ll try to explain it in terms my fashionably conscious readership can understand. If penises were styles of men’s shirt collars, your normie penises would be a crew neck. My original penis, the beta version, would be a full turtleneck. My new penis, Penis 2.0 and a 1/2, is a mock neck. Forever stuck in penis limbo somewhere between one and three skins.
The procedure itself wasn’t bad. They knocked me out cold, which is a luxury not afforded to infant victims of circumcision. Because babies are tougher than me right? Yeah, they actually probably are. The recovery was the thing that sex nightmares are afraid of. For the first few days my dick looked like a twice baked potato that a drunken maniac stitched together using smaller, uglier twice baked potatoes. Obviously, I’m being figurative about the twice baked potatoes, but I am not being figurative about the stitches. I had actual, literal dick stitches right around the base of the head. I was afraid to pee at urinals. What if someone casually caught a glimpse of my genitals? Riots would ensue and the townie folk would chase my penis out of town with pitchforks and torches like Frankenstein’s monster’s dick.
The dick stitches took some getting used to, and I had pills for the pain, but the random bleeding was the worst. My genitals could’ve started bleeding at any time with no warning, I felt like a girl expectantly dangling on the cusp of pubescence, taking a shower after gym class. A couple weeks went by, and I went to my follow up, where I thought he was going to take my stitches out. I was wrong. Turns out my boner was going to do all the work for him. A stitch popping boner might sound unbearable to the uninitiated, but it’s quite the opposite. My first morning wood, or mourning wood as I call them now (may my fiveskin rest in pieces), was like unchaining Django. It’s how Toby would’ve felt if they didn’t beat the name Kunta Kinte out of his very being. My dick was Bruce Banner succumbing to The Hulk and tearing almost all of his clothes off, his mostly unscathed but tattered shorts perfectly representing the surviving remnants of my dick skin apocalypse.
Despite the fact that phimosis makes sex and/or peeing unbearable, and adult circumcisions are bloody and horrific ordeals, I am still wholeheartedly against them for children. Phimosis is too rare to justify the systematic mutilation of our most male offspring. Teach your kids what soap and lube is and their scary, hooded penises will be just fine. The only medical reason for it is to put money in a doctor’s wallet. One of the reasons it’s so commonplace is because some dude wanted kids to stop masturbating and his original plan of force feeding them graham crackers didn’t work. His name was Sylvester Graham, the creator of the graham cracker. I’m not sure if he invented baby dick guillotines, but he probably tried to. Circumcision is ignorant and barbaric, but my main issue with it is it’s sexism. It is 100% illegal to circumcise a female baby and it is 100% encouraged to circumcise a male baby. That’s 200% sexist, which is so off the charts sexist, it almost seems like I probably just made it up.