Cock-a-doodle-don’t by Alan Dedman

Cock-a-doodle don’t by Alan Dedman borrows the title of a poem by Ivor Cutler. The poem calls for us to have mercy on a fowl. Having mercy on a penis is another matter. In his book ‘Stand by Your Manhood’, Peter Lloyd devotes a chapter to the unsavoury business of circumcision. In spite of all media noise about FGM (female genital mutilation), the same in the opposite direction ….. MGM (male genital mutilation) gets little air-time. Why is that?

I was subject to circumcision at the age of about eighteen months, due to an accident which took place whilst my mother was ‘otherwise indisposed’. Even though I could pass myself off as being ….. ‘of Israel‘, I’d rather not. Circumcision in middle eastern territories might be a practical measure (keeps grit from being trapped against your helmet) but I wouldn’t recommend it. A foreskin has about 20,000 compressed nerve endings. Remove that and you remove a great deal of sensitivity – from the schlong and from the man. Leave an unprotected tarse to bang about in a pair of pants over time and it will result in dulling of the organ. So perhaps: Cock-a-doodle-don’t do that!

Peter Lloyd looks at varying aspects of the topic. Apparently Americans dice and slice their baby boys at a rate of about 3,000 per day. Money is the driver – removed tissue being sold for all sorts of unimaginable purposes, including ‘restorative facial potions for women’ – anti-wrinkle creams. Psychotherapist Catherine Hood notes the passivity imposed on infant boys by circumcision, translates into all sorts of negative emotions in later life – like suppressed anger. Perhaps one of the most relevant things Peter Lloyd mentions is the way males who are circumcised (against their will) become alienated from their mothers. In my own case, I was isolated in hospital for three weeks. My parents were excluded from me and I developed concomitant head-rocking – a symptom of chronic neglect during infancy.

Enough of that. Celebrating all things penile will no doubt be frowned upon in these increasingly misandrist times – but in spite of feminist cant(s), I believe we should. After wondering about what to paint on a circular spin-painting, I had a Eureka moment and decided to draw a cock. More a case of cock-a-doodle-do than cock-a-doodle-don’t. I love the prurience of cock drawings and the mindless ease with which they can be done – by anyone, anywhere. Something arty pseuds might call an existential statement.

Having a penis is both a joy and a curse, because the erectile tissue they are made from doesn’t respond to conscious acts of will like other parts of the body. As in the case of Priapus, erections can be stifled by the braying of a donkey or some incongruous thought. Human noses and ears also consist of erectile tissue and they increase in size over time, but penises don’t do the same – in spite of what anyone might tell you.

However, Priapus didn’t seem so afflicted. Possessed of an enormous fanny spanner, this deity was a minor fertility god, protector of gardens, fruit plants, livestock and male genitalia. Raised by shepherds he joined Pan and the satyrs and is characterised by his large penis and near permanent erection. Many ancient phallic symbols were associated with the god Dionysus (forerunner of Pan). The Greeks liked their willys – so it would seem ….. and why not.