Without any notice or due process, I woke up one morning to find a second penis growing out of my navel.
This quickly became a matter of grave concern to me. Oh, how much havoc a few extra inches of meat can wreak upon a man’s mind! Two hours later, I was in The Doctor’s office.
“Amazing,” he tried to sound serious, but I could sense a suppressed chuckle squirming beneath his feigned aloofness of a professional. “Amazing, but not unique. These things happen.”
“Overnight? You’ve got to be joking. If things like this happened to people, I would have seen it on Geraldo or The Maury Povich Show a long time ago,” I remained incredulous. “Anyway, I have to get it removed. This is ridiculous. I can’t go to the beach now.”
“Your HMO does not cover penis removals,” The Doctor was dead serious this time.
He was useless. So I went to see The Shrink.
“Look at it as a benefit, not a detriment,” The Shrink preached in a soft level voice, rocking back in his plush leather chair. Soothing pink walls behind him reinforced his positive vibe. I began to feel better, but doubts still nagged me.
“But I’m a freak now, with this thing…”
“We’re all freaks,” The Shrink smiled knowingly. “But most of us are freaks who have nothing to brag about. You, on the other hand, have something that many people envy. This should comfort you. Be proud.” Reassuring, but not terribly helpful. So I went to see The Friend.
“Dude, no way!,” his eyes bulged out from laughter. “So… like, do both of them work?”
“I haven’t tried yet,” I snapped back angrily. “Haven’t had a chance to.”
“Dude, you can totally score with this! You could star in porn flics!”
“I don’t want to star in pornos. I just want to feel normal again.”
And so I went to see my Sister. Although I hate to admit it, she usually has the right answers.
“This is not a tragedy. There are millions dying of AIDS in Kenya. Now that’s a tragedy. Have some perspective,” she started off with her usual spiel, brushing back a silky wave of blond hair. But then a mischievous grin broke through on her face: “Really? A second one? No, don’t show it to me, you sick fuck.”
So I went to see The Priest.
“Nonsense. I told you a long time ago to stop drinking. Come back when you sober up and tell me something real,” he dismissed me out of hand. I did not even try to show him the proof.
The list was getting shorter. Mom? No, you don’t tell your mother this sort of thing. So I bought a ticket to Washington, D.C. I’m a liberal, you see. I am one of those outdated dinosaurs who still believe that, when all else fails, a confused citizen should be entitled to rely on his Government to provide the answers.
In Washington, I saw The Bureaucrat.
“So what do you want me to do?,” The Bureaucrat stared at me with polite regret.
“I want you to get to the bottom of this why… what is going on here…” I was annoyed now. “I want to file a complaint.”
“Against who? The penis?”
“How about my HMO?,” I was struck by a brilliant idea. “For not covering my type of situation…”
“But this is divorce court, sir,” The Bureaucrat continued to stare sadly with his colorless eyes. He seemed about to start crying.
“Well, fine. Just tell me where I need to go then,” I persisted.
“I don’t know where you should go with this.”
“You don’t believe me, do you… Let me show you.” And I began to unbutton my shirt.
“Please don’t,” The Bureaucrat pleaded, throwing up his hands in dismay. “I will have to have you arrested. There is no nudity allowed in the courthouse.”
“What nudity? I’m about to show you where my bellybutton should be! That’s not nudity!”
“If there is a penis there, then it’s nudity. I know nudity when I see it,” The Policewoman emerged from an adjacent room and drifted ominously close to me. “Out. Now.”
So I went to see The President. Surprisingly, I actually got to see him. He was shaking everyone’s hand on the Lawn again, and I squeezed through a tight crowd.
“Mr. President, my name is Victor and I have two penises,” I spoke rapidly, knowing I had few precious seconds to get to the point.
“Good for you, Victor!” The President firmly shook my hand and looked me in the eye with a radiant Hollywood smile, which expressed deep and sincere compassion for all men with two penises, as well as all other oppressed groups in our society. But an instant later he had already moved on, and only his smile still hung in the misty Washington air, as if he were the Cheshire Cat.
Distraught, I returned to my little town. But I never gave up. For these days, even when the Government cannot help, there’s always the Internet.
It only cost me a couple of hundred bucks to set up a website (TwoSchlangs.com was not taken by anyone else yet). Using 18-point Times New Roman font and multi-colored navigation bars, I explained my predicament and solicited advice and support from fellow Netizens.
My site got twelve hits the first day, perhaps because they ran searches for “penis.” But none of them clicked on the “Email Victor” button. Finally, two weeks later, I got my first comment: ivan4love from Dnepropetrovsk, Ukraine wrote: “I think you full of shit. Why no fotographs of 2 penis?”
Another week passed. I received another email this time, a marriage proposal from Idaho. ChristyKinky wrote that my site turned her on and she wanted to meet me in
person. She also omitted photographs. However, she did describe herself as “Reubenesque.”
Three months later, I had all but given up hope when The Entrepreneur showed up, a laptop case casually slung over his shoulder.
“I think we can make money with your idea,” his eyes shined with fanatical greed.
“What idea?”
“A website for people with two penises!” He paced quickly around my tiny studio like a caged animal. “Brilliant! All we need now is strong marketing… start up a chat room… get the right spin in the press… get some sponsor advertisers… I’m good with marketing. I can see us going public at $80 per share, man!”
“But how many people with two penises are out there?,” I asked. “I thought it was just me.”
“Wrong!” He fired up his laptop. “There are others. And we can expand the topic to include other penile disorders, broadening our target audience. Look, I have already done a market segmentation study.”
My head began spinning as the headings on his screen changed rapidly: “Projected IRR growth,” “Assumptions,” “About the Principals,” “TwoSchlangs.com Leading the Market for Men with Penile Disorders.”
“But after all this, I will still have two penises. This doesn’t solve my problem,” I said when he completed his presentation.
“Of course, but you’ll have some money. And I’ll have some money,” he laughed at my stupidity. “That’s what capitalism is all about. At the end of the day, you still have your problems, but you have some money too.”
He was right. Our IPO raised $250 million last year. My website grew, as did my fan club. Soon we were bought out by The Monopoly, as it usually happens with these things, I guess. I am now happily retired in Barbados. I still have my two penises, but I also have some money. And the marriage proposals just keep on coming.
Vadim Mahmoudov
December 26, 2000
