Like the majority of Americans, I had no idea why men across the country were growing hideous mustaches this month. And when I found out, I had no idea what a prostate was or if I had one. After asking the neighbor kids to do some research for me, I discovered that the prostate is a little sac of magic jewels that sits between the rectum and bladder. I should’ve known this- when I was 8, I would tell people that I wanted to be a proctologist. How would anyone take me seriously if I didn’t know what the prostate was? And I also found out that, like the majority of wondrous things in this world, I was excluded from having one because I didn’t have a penis.
Me after my mom told me that I couldn’t be a proctologist./Me after the neighbor kids told me that I didn’t have a prostate.
So sometime in between crying in bed and eating marzipan cookies on the couch, I thought of all the things that I’d do if I had a prostate. I’ve often wished that I had a penis and all of the magical things that come with it- a sense of entitlement, big hands, a mom who actually loves me, and the ability to pee laying down (my dad used to do this at soccer fields by pulling his foot-long out of his shorts’ crotch flaps). And once when I was 14 years-old, my evil friend (a ginger) convinced me that my long labia was a miniature penis. And I believed her for a week- it made sense: my quickness to develop muscle, my athleticism, my tendency to leave the toilet seat up (after barfing up dinner).
I just looked at my labia with a hand mirror and it’s, aaaaarrrgggghhhh, disgusting!
But the hard fact of life is, no matter how oblivious I am to others’ feelings or how many times I explode chili in the microwave, I will never grow a wiener. But as we begin to celebrate the birth of a dude who walked on water and resurrected himself (his prostate was probably spotless), I can imagine what I’d do if I had a prostate. Or a penis. But, first, there’s a couple of things that I would definitely NOT do if I had this magic sac of marbles:
1. Grow a dumb fuc*king mustache: It’s really long nose hair. Gross. And it’s not funny or ironic anymore. Sure, Growvember is the only time that I‘m excused from having lip hair, but other people shouldn’t be. Plus, I have small lips, and a really big chin; think Leno with a ‘stache. Aaron Rodgers grew one and look what happened: his di*k temporarily disappeared and he led the Packers to a 10-38 loss to a team of cleanly-shaven black guys.
“Oh shit, what’s that? Oh yeah, it’s just the temporary loss of my dexterity, my manhood, and my pride.”
2. Drunkenly reveal my wiener-size to a group of sober babes: A friend recently got frat boy wasted and revealed to a group of college girls that his wang is wider than it is long- a genuine chode, like a wheel of cheese. My 30 year-old frat boy friend’s revelation was so shocking, I had to take a week off of laying on the couch to wrap my hand mind around it. Even though I don’t like sex and am a total asexual eunuch, if I were to actually desire human contact, it wouldn’t be with someone who reveals half the magic. And even though I don’t really care about wiener size (or having sex with humans for that matter), this really grossed me out.
My duh-yic is, aaaarrrrggghhhhh, this big!
Okay, now what I would do if I had a hairy sac of jewels:
1. Break sh*t with my bare hands. My arms are so thin and frail, they make my ass look huge. I recently made a profile on a nannying website and I had to disclaim “cannot hold baby for longer than 10 minutes. No breastfed monsters, please.” I wish that just for one day I had the upper body strength of a man. There’s so many things that I could do with it– smash cans on my forehead, throw garbage bins into the alley, enter arm wrestling contests. I’d also scare the shit out of people with my temper tantrums. Without a prostate, when I stomp on the ground and weakly toss pumpkins at people’s heads, everyone just laughs and tells me that I’m cute. If I had this magical marble sac, I wouldn’t have to be on my period to scare people.
“Ima break this breast-fed monster with my bare hands.”
2. Roofie Women: I have no idea what it’s like to actually have to work for the human contact that I don’t want, so I’m sure that I wouldn’t have the patience for it. Some think that drugging women for sex is morally reprehensible, but so is using womanly titty charms to lead a guy into marriage and fatherhood. Men’s brains are 85% mushier than women’s; it’s not fair that we take advantage of these child-like nymphs like we do. I’ve even considered roofy-ing myself and have oftentimes left my drink unattended for long periods of time in seedy bars. Who knows- I might wake up midway through, fascinated, and think, Hey, it’s like a hairy wheel of cheese! This isn’t so bad!
“Oh no, don’t roofie my Apple-tini!…I’ll just puke it up in an hour. Put it in my beer. It’ll stay down that way.”
3. Never Shave My Genitals: I know that guys do this to create the illusion of a really long dong, but that seems like a lot of work for little payoff. I don’t know how many times that I clipped the labe or short-circuited Greg’s beard trimmer when taming the wild shrew. I look for every excuse possible to not shave my pubis: Growvember, too busy blogging, feminism. Having family jewels that extend beyond the bush (well more than an inch beyond) is the perfect reason to throw away the clippers.
“I’ll pay you extra to de-clog the pool drains.” Score!
4. Shave My Head Bald: I’ve thought about doing this, but it’d only make my ass look even huger. If I had a prostate, it’d make sense.
5. Reach really high things: Growing up, my dad never let me cut the grass. There was a lot of things that I couldn’t do because I didn’t have a prostate as a kid: clean the gutters, carve turkeys, use the snow-blower. If I had a prostate now, I would do this sh*t all day. I’d be a Mexican wielding a leaf-blower like a torch of gold, like an extension of my spicy churro. I’d take a power tool with me everywhere I went. Here’s your Apple-tini, now let me snake your drains. Here’s your Schlitz, now let me power-drill your mind. And, with a hammer in my belt-loop, my flannels would finally make sense.
“Now, you just go lie under that Oak tree. It’s tool time baby…Don’t mind these guys. They’re making us martinis.”
6. Collect Unemployment: I haven’t checked the books on this one, but I’m pretty sure that it’s exclusive to people with prostates. C’mon, ACLU and feminist Ryan Gosling, get on this shit.
7. Play high-stakes Poker: Poker has been explained to me over 25 times. And I have still no idea. Statistics suggest that men are much better than women at math and other god-awful topics that don’t require critical thinking and emotions. Statistics also suggest that men who suck at a lot of things are much more intrigued by gambling because of the chance of luck. If I had a prostate, I’d carry around a portable Poker set in a suitcase. And I’d walk on my tip-toes just to throw people off. People never think much of tip-toe walkers. I’d hustle people too and back it up with my bare knuckles, my pool stick, and my hairy genitals. If I had a prostate, I’d be bad-ass like Tom Selleck.
“You’re gonna want to double down on the queen of spades and fold on the suicide king. Whatever you do, throw down some more chips and don’t ever call me again on my beach phone.”
8. Know What’s Actually Going on Under My Hood: I’ve never actually opened my car hood. I don’t even know how to or know what’s under it. If I were to figure out how to unlatch it, I’d expect rainbows and unicorns to pop out. Once I drove for 20 minutes with my hood on fire and couldn’t stop raving about how good burning Autumn leaves smelled. I swear I wasn’t high. And I learned just this past summer that you can’t idle on the top of a hill in San Francisco. If I had a prostate, I would know how to operate and fix that thing dripping oil in the neighbor’s driveway. Until I get one, I’ll have to rely on my dad’s to send him powerful messages as to when to change the oil and refill the wiper fluid.
“So you’re telling me that this thing doesn’t run on birth control pills and mixed tapes?!?! And how did I get on the passenger side!?!?”
9. Fart Without Shame: I do now, but I’m pretty sure that every time I do, a boner inverts somewhere around the world.
10. Play golf. Kidding with this one. It’s such a stupid fuc*king sport.
11. Be flamingly gay. Finally, if I had a prostate, I’d be flamingly gay. It’s been hip for like 10 years. And that’d be two people in the house who can reach really high things, who can cut the grass, and who can play Poker. Plus, if I was a flamingly gay person with a wiener, I’d get more prostate checks than straight guys do.
“Not only do we never have problems reaching things, we never have to work hard for ass.” Team Prostate.
27 in Twenty Twelve 
OMG! Every time I fart a boner inverts somewhere around the world! A wheel of cheese? You made my peach juice come out my nose. Thanks for that. No seriously. I love acquiring new skills.
I spent 5 minutes trying to figure out if “peach juice” is an innuendo for something. I didn’t know people really drank peach juice. A Canadian thing??
I’m glad that I could assist in the expansion of your skill set. I live to give. Thanks for reading, friend!
Haha. No “peach juice” is actually the juice of a peach, but I can see why you were wondering. Minute Maid puts it out and it tastes really good with club soda.