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Your in Good Hands
But other companies did spring into action.
For example, after reading that a product called
Sativol contains enzymes from certain grasses, I
phoned the distributor and explained that I was
highly allergic to Serengeti dabbled sprocket
grass. When I expressed my medical concerns,
Mary, the customer-service rep, actually went
and got a bottle and checked to see what enzyme
it contained. You think you get that level of
service from computer companies when your
motherboard explodes?
And it wasn't just Mary. In my experience, I
found many of the entrepreneurs and service
people in the penis-expanding biz to be
forthright and cooperative, and in most cases
more than willing to accept input from the
general public. For example, the promotional
materials for Pro+ Pills report that the male
enlargement products contain "some of the same
type of herbs found in Polynesia where the men
of the Mangaian tribe have sex on the average of
three times a night, every night."
Immediately, I fired off an e-mail to the man
who had supposedly developed the product: "If
members of the Mangaian tribe have three orgasms
a night, how many will they have if they take
your pills? I have some Polynesian guys working
on my property, and if I could get them tired
out at night, they'd stop grabbing my wife's ass
during the day." I waited a reasonable time to
see if the company would respond, then called
the firm directly. In due course, I hooked up
with a guy named Steve Heller and explained that
his company might be lowballing the Mangaian
tribe with the three-orgasm figure. Steve said,
"It would require some research to find where
all that information is archived." Still, it
sounded like if I really pushed him, the data
would be mine.
The Climax
In the end, my most heartening experience
occurred when I spoke with "Jack," a sales
representative from a website. I'll be honest
with you: Our conversation got off to a rocky
start. He was mystified when I explained that I
was researching penis-enhancement products for a
major national magazine. At one point, when I
asked him which profession had the smallest
dicks, he shot back: "Journalists." "Not this
one, pal," I responded, trying to hold my temper
in check. "I'm packing an armadillo in here.
It's a mastodon, a juggernaut, a jackhammer."
Jack laughed and insisted that he was only
joking, that this was the sort of thing guys
said around the gym.
This led to my next question: Did gym employees
secretly walk through the showers, taking notes,
and then feed penis-extension firms the names
and addresses of men with small penises? Was
there a registry of under endowed men? And if
so, did a website use such a list? "No," he
said. "We don't have to find men. They find us,
just the way you did."
"Well, let me ask you a question then: Do you
use these products? Have you ever used them? Do
they work for you?" Jack did not hesitate to
reply. "I am one of the happiest customers of my
product right now." "So that means you needed to
have your penis extended." Jack hesitated. Then
he spoke: "Yes." That kind of settled the
credibility issue for me. Jack went on record
that he, like millions of other Americans, had
come up a bit short in the shorts. So the next
time you receive an unsolicited e-mail from a
penis spammer and automatically delete it as
unwanted slime, maybe you should have a prick of
conscience. These guys make money the hard way.
By:
Joe Queenan
Illustrations, By:
Tomer Hanuka
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