Maybe The Hamburgler Was After Something Completely Different

Last night I spent over an hour watching a naked man play with his penis.  Don’t worry Mom, it was art – in a theater and EVERYTHING.

Technically there were two naked men.  Interwebz, I gotta tell you they were bee-yoo-tee-full.  (And that’s saying something because a buck-naked man is rarely an attractive thing.  Why do you think the Old Spice hotty always wears a towel?  I assure you, it’s not solely about decency or bath products – it’s about aesthetics, too.)

Amusingly, I was accompanied by Un-named Male.  He scored the tickets through a friend and says he, “immediately thought of you.”  I’m going to assume he thought of me because he knows of my deep affection for free tickets and not because the show was entitled, “The Puppetry of the Penis.”

I’d heard of the show.  In fact, I think it was about five years ago that I gave Dad a copy of the DVD for Christmas.  Say, I wonder if he’s been honing his art with all the free time retirement brings.  God I hope not.

It really is an art, you know.  The creators describe it as the “ancient art of genital origami.”  They referred to their dick tricks as “installations.”  It’s only a matter of time until they have an exhibit at the MoMA.

The theater was hot.  Even I, who always needs a sweatshirt when air conditioning is involved, found myself sweating in just a light skirt and tee.  The comedian that opened the show was literally dripping under the lights.  It only got worse for the poor woman when a crabby lady in the front row responded to her questions with, “We’re not interacting.”  What a douche.

Note:  Interwebz, here’s a little life lesson for you.  If you really, truly don’t want to talk to the performers, get yanked on stage as a volunteer, or be covered with watermelon pulp, NEVER sit in the front row at a live performance.  Of anything.  You’re welcome.

As the lights dimmed, Un-named Male (who’s at least as straight as Tom Cruise) took a deep swig from the aluminum bottle of wine I’d smuggled into the theater.  “Oh God,” I heard him quietly murmur.  I laughed maniacally while frantically clapping.

The performers emerged in floor length velvet capes.  As is typical in a comedic performance (see note above), one of the puppeteers mockingly eyed the patrons within his reach.  “Front row at a dick show,” he cooed.  Then looking directly at Mrs. Not Interacting, he informed them that she was in a “splash zone.”  I pretty much fell in love with him right then and there.

It did not take long for me to understand why the theater was so warm.  A cooler temperature would have left the artists with…well…a lack of material, if you will.  I was kind of surprised when I didn’t see Rocco’s favorite hot weather trick.  We call it “The Hound Dog.”

Un-named Male whispered, “Can you imagine the audition process?”  I giggled.  “I guess you could call it stage presence.  Though really its more, ‘Can you pull your scrotum up and over your head?'”

We’re talking forehead here, not the other kind of head.  Speaking of head, in honor of the riveting performance from Rich Binning and Gavin Stewart, I move that we swap the saying “giving head” to “playing the didgeridoo.”  Tell your friends.

My personal favorite installation?  Mr. Binning simply stood on the stage with a gilded frame held over his crotch area.  It was entitled, “A Portrait of George Bush.”  I also thoroughly enjoyed the “Dick Cheney” which, surprisingly, didn’t involve a dick at all.

At the end of the night, I waited with Un-named Male for his friend to emerge from the theater.  They, and another random guy, invited me to join them for a post-show drink.  Tired, I begged off.  Too late did I realize that random other dude was, in fact, one of the puppeteers.

I guess I can’t really give guys such a hard time for objectifying the ladies if I can spend an entire hour staring at a naked man, then not recognize him the moment he puts on clothing.  I’m a pig.

For those of you wanting to practice at home, here’s a little tutorial of their best known installation, “The Hamburger.”

If the worst happens and you manage to hurt yourself – pull something while practicing – you probably shouldn’t apply Tiger Balm.