Stop Touching Jon Hamm’s Penis!

jon_hamm001There comes a time in every man’s life when he is called upon to defend the integrity and honor of another man’s penis.  I guess this mine.  There has been a considerable amount of attention on the Internet and in the media lately, focused on Jon Hamm, star of the successful and critically acclaimed television series Mad Men, specifically concerning a certain part of his anatomy.  Without rehashing the particulars, we have been made to understand that Jon Hamm has an enormous wang.  The secret is out.  Now, it’s time for everyone to stop talking about it.

For the record, I admit to having some serious dude love for Jon Hamm.  As an actor, he consistently gives an outstanding performance, and his portrayal of Don Draper in Mad Men is no exception.  Don Draper is a psychologically and morally complex character, capable of acts of apathy, cruelty, and sweeping generosity, seeking both redemption and self-destruction in the equal measure–in other words, a human being–and Hamm never shrinks away from playing the character at his best and his worst.  My wife and I, after much anticipation, were watching the premiere of season six last week.  The problem was that I had trouble enjoying the show with the same unadulterated pleasure as before.  I was distracted by something, an insinuation, a bad joke, a quickly suppressed giggle–I was distracted by a penis.  I realized that the man’s penis had become a subtext in his entire body of work.  All across the country, the eyes of viewers were flickering towards Don Draper’s groin, looking for the tell-tale silhouette.

Like Waldo, the search for Jon Hamm’s penis is an elusive one.

I will never understand the obsession with celebrities–or in this case, celebrity man-cannons–but Jon Hamm’s penis has inspired a fascination that goes well beyond ridiculous.  I know that it shouldn’t come as a surprise that there are websites dedicated to the subject of Jon Hamm’s penis.  Or that Jon Hamm, in an interview with Rolling Stone, was quoted as saying, “They’re called ‘privates’ for a reason.  I’m wearing pants, for fuck’s sake.  Lay off.”  While I’m no expert on social niceties, I’d say that when a guy is forced to go on record in the venerable pages of Rolling Stone magazine as saying hey guys, lay off my junk, a line has been crossed somewhere.

To put a little perspective on this, if I started a blog dedicated to the subject of my neighbor’s dick, that would make me creepy and, well,  kind of a tool (Sorry, Brandon).  But, if my neighbor was Jon Hamm, suddenly I’m a freaking journalist in the league of Perez Hilton, the bleeding rectum of the blogosphere.  What I’m getting at is that just because the penis is attached to Jon Hamm, we shouldn’t make the mistake of believing that it is a special penis, certainly not any more special than the penis belonging to any other man.  And though it is apparently bigger than most, this is evidence only that God likes Jon Hamm more than most men, and so decided to give him astonishing good looks and charm, talent, wealth, and a tallywacker that could choke a giraffe.

God bless me, PLEASE!

Oh, God bless me, PLEASE!

We need to leave Jon Hamm’s penis alone, or, if you prefer, at least treat it with the respect it deserves: don’t fuck with it.  After all, if the legends are true, then we have to assume that this is one trouser snake that is capable of defending itself; you don’t want to piss it off.  I won’t pretend that, just to please me, the entire Internet as a whole will suddenly acquiesce and I’ll no longer have to suffer the indignity of seeing Don Draper dick tales posted on CNN alongside the latest news of the global clusterfuck of a nuclear-armed North Korea.  It’s human nature, probably at its worst; we’re curious.  How much money does he make?  What’s she like in bed?  How big is that guy’s dick?  For some stupid reason, we’re dying to know.  It doesn’t necessarily make us bad people, just a bunch of complete wankers.  So, I’m going to defuse this situation right now.  Brought to you by Blank Universe, here is an exclusive photo of Jon Hamm’s penis.  The mystery is gone.  You’re welcome.  Now let’s get on with our lives.

Blind Man

So, there I was in Walmart…which sounds like the start of some horrific joke about Southerners, but lets face it: I live in Cullowhee, North Carolina.  This is what you do when you’re looking for a wild night out on the town.  Browsing the aisles, I was trying to decide if I really needed a giant martini glass.  Surely, this was more of an impulse buy, but the sticker on the glass claimed that it was virtually unbreakable, as though it were made of adamantium instead of the finest plastic available in Chinese manufacturing.  You have to wonder just how many martinis a person has to drink on a regular basis before it becomes necessary to consider indestructible barware.

Given that I rarely drink anything more than the occasional Yuengling, I took a pass on the martini glass and was, instead, eyeing a Ginsu knife–guaranteed to survive the fall of Middle Earth before it needed sharpening–when I saw a blind kid.  By saw, I mean I tripped over the end of his cane as I was walking around the corner.  The blind kid did not apologize, just kept walking, his cane tapping against the tiles.  Being partially deaf, I have the greatest sympathy for the physically disabled, but I admit that I was appalled by his rudeness.  What does one yell at a rude blind person?  Dammit, watch where you’re going?  And then I realized that he was not actually blind.

I knew he was not blind because at that moment, the other boy walking with him, whom I assumed to be his brother, said something that caused the kid to turn on him and strike him viciously across the shoulder with the cane.  The blow was perfect.  This was no mere blind kid.  This was someone with a thirst for violence and the trained hand-eye coordination to see it through.  This kid was posing with a blind man’s cane, and using it to commit acts of aggravated assault!

I might’ve simply laughed it off or said to myself, Where are this kid’s parents, a thought that even now, as a grown man, makes me want to go out and break curfew,but, a terrible thought occurred to me.  What happened to the blind man?  Was it possible that somewhere in Walmart, there was a blind man that’d suddenly found himself without a cane?  Perhaps, even then, he was holding precariously to the shelves, wondering just how in the hell he was supposed to get out of this mess.  The world must’ve seemed so unfathomably immense for him that day, his tether to the earth broken, each step like a chasm opening up before him.  I wondered what it must’ve been like for him when finally, stripped of his pride, he had to call out for someone, anyone, to help him.

To the kid in Walmart, walking around with the stolen cane, I just want you to know that you are such a little shit…and you’ve got to check out those automatic juice machines!  They’ll blow your fucking mind!