There is a high incidence of penis in my browser window. Arithmetic was never really my strong suit, psychiatrist
It’s true. It must be. As I mentioned, I’m not terribly good at numbers. However, when we consider the annual Australian spend for smut has long since surpassed Billion; that a new pornographic video is produced every ten minutes and that “nudie” ranks reliably in Google’s top local search queries, we can only conclude that the average man has seen five trillion wangs by the age of twenty-six.
In a digital world chock-a-block with cock, the sight of a man at half-mast in his boxers is not especially shocking. Except, of course, if the mongrel was set loose by a Congressional Representative.
Just a month or two ago, Anthony was busy doing decent works in the Capitol. He was an advocate for affordable health care, tobacco industry reform and he sponsored a bill to increase the availability of US visas to foreign fashion models. (No. I didn’t make that up.) He was broadly known among political junkies for known for his humorous use of Twitter. And then, he was known by everyone.
In the blink of a cursor, the crotch of the aptly named Weiner was everywhere. The representative said that his Twitter account had been hacked but, he did not deny being the owner of the penis. “I don’t know what photographs are out there in the world of me,” he told CNN, coyly allowing that he was, in fact, the probable owner of the item. Well, who wouldn’t? As a regular consumer of internet penis, I can confirm that Wiener’s world is big. Not quite the size of a baby’s arm but certainly bigger than any piece of statement jewellery ever worn by Lara Bingle.
In the days following the flash, Weiner claimed credit for the tackle. He also conceded that he hadn’t meant to Tweet it but, in fact, send it privately to Ginger Lee, the lovely young star of Auto Bang Sluts Vol 2. (No. I didn’t make that up, either.)
Needless to say, things didn’t go well for Anthony after that.
Of course, if Weiner had been a Member for the Australian Labor Party instead of a US Democrat, he might well have received a front-bench promotion. As it was, though, he was forced to resign from politics leaving only a graphic depiction of Big Government as his legacy.
Several months later, US pundits are still examining this matter; they’re still asking: what does it mean? And what is the future of privacy???
Personally, I think both of these questions are easily met. (1) It means that he put a picture of his dick up on the internet. (2) The future of privacy is non-existent.
Any sod with half a brain and a Facebook account knows privacy is dead. If we leave recklessness, rage or penis online, our traces are indelible. You know this, your boss knows this and the Democrat with the colossal winkie knew it, too. In a digital world already drained of discretion, the question should not be “Where has my privacy gone?” but “Why don’t I care about my privacy?”.
A few commentators stepped in to explain Weiner’s risk-taking. Predictably, there were a few moralisers who called him a “sex-a-holic”; a man with a disease contracted from too much porn. This is nonsense. While I have not viewed Auto Bang Sluts Vol 2, I have seen a good deal of adult entertainment and I can’t say it’s made me impatient to show my gonads.
There were better theories, too. Weiner wanted out of politics. Weiner was mocked for his name at school and wanted to show the playground bullies how much he’d grown. Weiner had a really awesome dick and liked to get it out.
Actually, these theories are all quite sound and might explain why this particular man flashed his goods. What they do not explain, though, are the growing indiscretions of half the planet. And I’m not just talking about penis-based indiscretion, either.
In fact, as a happy consumer of approximately two-hundred penises per-quarter, I don’t think a schlong is the worst of what people divulge online. There are far more unpleasant disclosures I see on Facebook and Twitter every day.
I am on the sofa. I have a headache. I am on the train to work and the woman standing next to me just farted. What? I don’t care. Shove the minutiae of your day and shove the self-importance that led you to think I’d give a tinker’s cuss about them.
Even as volleys are lobbed at Google, Facebook and Microsoft for violations of our privacy, a torrent of personal details are voluntarily spewed all over an unwilling audience. There are those prepared to tell the world what they had for dinner but indignant when they find Apple has tracked their online movement. I mean. What did you expect from a corporation that has more cash on hand than the US Treasury? And, what did you imagine when you began to chronicle every dreary detail of your day in the cube? Apple can resist a look at your personal preferences no more than a I can resist a peek at a politician’s cock. If you don’t want to be seen, don’t show yourself.
In 500 billion minutes each month, we kill time privacy on Facebook and other social media. Perhaps we should spend these minutes more wisely. Perhaps we should shut up until we can offer something useful or entertaining,
Like a picture of jam-packed boxer shorts, perhaps.
This was a piece written for the FHM lads