Why do penises drip? Not with STD's, but with piss and cum. It's something I've always wondered, up there with 'What is the meaning of life?' and 'Will we ever find a cure for cancer?' I'll answer the less important questions another time, but for now we'll run with the runnier of the three topics - Dicks That Drip. It could be a Channel 4 documentary, a natural follow-on from such programmes as Cars That Kill and Monkeys Who Masturbate. We'll go with the flow today, and try to answer the question that has been plaguing man since Adam first had it away with his daughter.
The penis, despite its odd appearance, is a marvellous piece of engineering. It stands to attention when it's called to (and sometimes when it isn't), it enables us to write our names in the snow and it's also a convenient place in which to keep our brains. But like anything that's been tinkered with by Jonathan King, the dick has its disadvantages. After urination or ejaculation, it has a tendency to drip, even when it's been given a good shaking. (Mine gets a good shake during and after ejaculation.) The results of this are wet spots on your underwear, piss on your leg and semen on your shorts. Depending on your sexual tastes, this could be viewed as a good thing, but for most men it's Prince Charles with a strap-on. (A Royal pain in the arse.) Girls don't get this problem - if their piss-hole leaks, it simply gets absorbed with all the other moisture that's running around the vaginal region. And let's face it, a few splashes of the yellow are hardly gonna make the flange smell any worse, are they? To discover the reason why men drip and women don't, we have to take a journey to the beginning of time, when we were all just a twinkle in our creator's eye…
Back in the day, when God had all the penile parts laid out on the kitchen table, one of the cherubs, in search of ammunition for his bow and arrow, jumped up and grabbed the nuts and bolts. Before God could fell the little blighter with one swipe of his hand, he was gone and so was the all-important shut-off valve. 'Well fuck this for a game of soldiers', sighed the Creator. 'It's clocking off time, and I've got a busy day ahead of me tomorrow, burying the male g-spot. I'll put this piece back together as best as I can - the nuts shouldn't be a problem anyway, they're only two balls of clay - and if man really needs a shut-off valve, he can jolly well evolve one!' Millions of years went by, and the matter was all but forgotten about. No-one had complained about their faulty penis (they were too busy fighting to perform a drip check), and so the defect was passed down through the ages. The caveman hadn't noticed at all, as a leaky cock was the least of his problems when a velociraptor was trying to deep throat itself with his wife, while the Romans didn't seem peturbed by the constant dripping either, despite the amount of orgies they engaged in. This was because all the men wore robes, and the excess liquid would simply splash down onto the floor beneath them. It wasn't until the 20th century, when men started wearing proper underwear, that dripping dicks became a problem. The signs were subtle, but unavoidable: strange white marks on their shoes; an accumulation of crust around the helmet and the invention of Scampi Nik Naks, designed to mask the smell of urine-splashed hands. Of course it wasn't all dick's fault - many men were too lazy too shake off after taking a leak, while others were afraid to wiggle it too vigorously while at the urinals, for fear of being seen to masturbate. And now, in the 21st century, it seems that every liquid dispensing unit has been modified to overcome this defect, while the penis, for once, has been left standing still. There are drip trays in pubs that are designed to catch the excess froth when too much head has been given. Even Ribena bottles come with a non-drip cap. So why has no-one thought of doing the same with the humble human hosepipe? Could it be that men are too embarrassed to admit that their dicks drip and every pair of boxers they own - plus a few they don't - have cum-stains down the front? It's OK to talk about impotence and testicular cancer, so why not Drippergate, as it shall henceforth be known? If you can get boob jobs and sex changes on the NHS, why not penis upgrades? They could even be done at the same time as other operations, to reduce waiting lists and free up hospital beds. You go in to get your tonsils removed and come out with an extra couple of inches and a shut-off valve. And think of the benefits that having such a device would bring - not only would there be no more ruined business suits, but 30 seconds into sex you could activate the valve and prevent another premature ejaculation. OK, so the resultant build up of pressure would probably cause your balls to explode, but I'm sure there must be a way round that. (A couple of small holes drilled in each testicle should do the trick.) And you know how, just when you're in the middle of taking a slash, the fone always rings? With a shut-off valve, you simply stop mid-piss and return to the bathroom later to complete the job at your leisure. Or save it all up for one long golden shower in the evening. I'm bursting with great ideas, I am, and if I don't stop writing soon, I will also explode. Before I go, however, I'd like to leave you with a wise old proverb that sums up the Drippergate scandal perfectly. It simply says 'A nagging wife is like a dripping tap.' And you know the best way to turn off that tap, in more ways than one? Put a shut-off valve in her mouth. Preferably your own.