For the past ten days I have been trying not to stare at a gift an anonymous admirer dropped off for me -- a long green cylinder which contains the fixings for a green phosphorescent Glow in the Dark Clone-a-Willy. It's a kit that supplies everything you need to make an exact, glowing, vibrating copy of your penis in your own home out of new improved bodysafe silicone. So what else is new? Or not?
Egad! Am I the only person still breathing who remembers The Plaster Casters? Two young Chicago groupies, named Cynthia + 1, who'd been unable to connect with the gorgeous men who made the awesome music they loved through normal channels; i.e., lurking in dimly lit hotel corridors, and tried a different approach to get an appendage in or out of the door. They asked ... I believe it was Paul Revere and the Raiders -- if they'd be interested in having their packages immortalized in plaster? The answer? Yes and No. The Raiders deferred, but Cynthia, whose actual ambition was to have sex with a British Rockstar, lowered her standards to the homegrown variety and did indeed manage to lose her virginity during or after that chat.
Two years later, Cynthia cast her nets more successfully with a different + 1 performing the task of getting Mr. Willie Johnson up and away. Her first? Jimi Hendrix. Others followed his lead and dipped their misters in a dental mold filled with alginates. However, Cynthia's list of 77 gets is not all that impressive. Too many drummers and hangers on. Her hot shots include Anthony Newley who wrote 7 musicals including Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, which makes me wonder if this film was actually meant for kiddies; Eddie Brigati of The Starlighters and The Young Rascals and a circumcised nice Jewish boy, Zal Yanovsky of The Lovin' Spoonfuls. One that got away was Eric Burdon, lead singer of The Animals. He dipped it, but Cynthia screwed up the mold.
Back to the present, what's a person to do with a Clone-A-Willy DIY kit who doesn't have a penis of her own to clone? Make do with whatever's around the house. What's around my premises is my husband Alvin, that long-suffering saint. I'm hoping he doesn't nod off while I'm focusing on the instructions. Great. It only takes two minutes to do. Oy Vey!, why are they telling me to watch a video on YouTube? Is it worth all that time and trouble when I have the real thing available whenever I want it ... without having to worry about finding replacement batteries?
At the Clone-A-Willy website, one can choose from a variety of colors and skin tones, even phosphorescent ones that actually glow in the dark! ($39.95-$44.95) Who's penis might I be actually interested in contemplating during a power outage? Bradley Cooper's? Hugh Jackman's? Caitlyn Jenner's? And what would induce them to sit still for me for as long as it took me to do the deed? My true pleasure is the non-vibrating favorite of foodies, made of solid milk chocolate ($29.95) but I do wonder why is there no gilded version for that majority of misters who truly believe theirs are made of solid gold?
Which brings me back to the man of the house, my husband Alvin. A clone of his Willy might be very handy to have around. Not for sex, but for winning arguments. So not only can I tell him what to do to himself, I can supply him with the object to do it with!
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