The great American author John Steinbeck is celebrated around the world for his masterful blending of whimsy with cold, hard realism, and for having fans with enormous penises. But while it is generally true that having read Of Mice and Men is a good indicator that you need to tuck your beef thermometer into your sock as you walk, I’m here to tell you that there are exceptions to this rule. Believe it or not, I read Steinbeck and the size of my tallywhacker has never made a prostitute jump out of the window in fear.
It can be hard convincing people of it, though. Once you explain to someone that Jim in The Grapes of Wrath represents Jesus Christ in the early days of his ministry while Tom symbolizes Christ post-resurrection, the first thing they ask is have you ever coiled your penis and pretended it’s a whip for a homemade Indiana Jones cosplay. And then when you tell them you haven’t, they just don’t believe you. I get it, because how could you not, when you so clearly understand that one of the points of Of Mice and Men is that inhumanity leads to loneliness which leads to more inhumanity in a never-ending feedback loop of misery. Logically, that should mean you can use your trouser hose to go to the bathroom without ever leaving the chair, but it’s just not the case with me and I would like the world to finally acknowledge that I and my kind exist.
I’m going to say it again: just because all the parallels between the Book of Genesis and the story of East of Eden were instantly obvious to me does not mean my erections cause me to black out due to the sudden rush of blood from my head. I know I don’t seem it but I really am just like you. You don’t need to fear me or treat me like some freak. I put my pants on one leg at a time without first slinging my yogurt pistol over my shoulder to make sure I don’t accidentally step on it. So, please, stop asking me to sleep with your wives.
The time has come for people like me to stand up and say proudly: We’re here, we get that Tortilla Flat is a modern American retelling of the King Arthur legend, and our penises are only slightly above average in length! We might not be in the majority, but our voices should still be heard. Not just for our sake, but for all the disappointed women who saw us carrying our copy of The Red Pony, invited us to their apartments, and then got a shock when our boink rods couldn’t penetrate and choke them at the same time.