An irregular dispatch from the Observer’s men’s blog, The Cockpit:
So the ladies at Salon’s the Catbox or the Vagina Monoblog or whatever are still at it. It’s like knitting! Teach a gal to do it and you’ve got sweaters at Christmas for the rest of your life.
Anyway, they sent along a link, the contents of which frankly don’t interest us much, and a question: What is the deal with foreskin-protection activists? Note to the ladies–and to these poor misguided fellas who are all, “Boo-hoo, I think my penis would be better if I still had a foreskin”: Men do not complain about their cocks. Ever.
There is a word for the kind of people who develop complexes where they can’t stop jabbering about what’s wrong with the shape, size, or condition of their body parts, and that word is “WOMEN.” If you’re unhappy about your penis, go get in a bar fight or invade another country or something. For God’s sake, don’t stick a bumper sticker about it on your car (what kind of car would you even slap the thing on? A Cabriolet?). You might as well put on a skirt. And start asking if it makes your thighs look fat.
Tom “You’re No Rock ‘N’ Roll Fun” Scocca