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Brooklyn's Smallest Penis Belongs To Your Mailman
A NSFW competition to determine the smallest penis in Brooklyn involved penis formal wear, transparent swimwear, and a talent segment.
By Johannah King-Slutzky
Kings County Bar in Bushwick held the first annual pageant in search of Brooklyn's Smallest Penis on Saturday. It worked like this: the pageant was to be held in three acts: formal wear, talent, and swimwear, each of which would factor into determining who amongst the five contestants was to receive the title of Brooklyn's Smallest Penis. Attached to the title was a crown, a scepter, and 200 bucks. Chicken Bitches, the MC (pictured above in headdress) orchestrated the event. There were also three judges, one of whom was a well-endowed young man named Go-Go Harder; another, a high-voiced burlesque dancer with a cotton candy pink bob who goes by Cherry Pitz. Voting worked electoral college style-- for each segment, the audience would vote for contestants via clap, although the ultimate decision was up to the three judges.
Act I: Formal Wear
Six contestants -- Sugar Daddy, Periwinkle, Rip Van Dinkle, The Delivery Man, Zigonet (henceforth addressed as "Frenchie"), and Flowrider -- cat-walk atop the bar wearing nothing but sashes, golden masks, and tiny tuxedoes for their penises. For those wondering, there was no measurement component to the competition, but eyeballing it, I'd guess nobody's junk was over two inches. Also of note, the tuxes didn't cover any balls. The Delivery Man, who distinguishes himself from his contestants by donning a brown UPS baseball cap, emerges the clear audience favorite. Flowrider, anomalously sashless, jiggles his ass and walks the bar with his arms in a T while he grins.
Act II: Talent
Bar staffers ("Penis Kittens") part the crowd down the center. Impossibly, the crowd seems to have grown; a man on my left who I later learn belongs to the Village Voice notes that the crowd is at least 30% bloggers. Periwinkle, the first contestant on stage, wears a light blue tutu and a veil. After he finishes dancing (almost everyone's talent is dance) the judges ask him a couple questions about what it's like to have a small dick. Touchingly, he says that penis size never matters, except in the locker room. The Delivery Man has opted to wear nothing but a small brown package, dick-in-a-box style. He is one of two contestants who doesn't dance. Instead he tells jokes. We are pleased. We clap. Frenchie erroneously heads upstream before his time. When he finally gets on stage, he speaks by inserting the mic underneath his gold mask. He's visibly soused: "I can fart with my hands," he proclaims before dancing. "Whiskey dick," explains Chicken Bitches. Rip Van Dinkle, the other danceless contestant, recites poetry from a sheet of yellow paper. I like poetry and I dig his NBA headband, I decide he's my favorite. When Flowrider comes on stage he rants about being 45 and bisexual. He is the world's nakedest incoherent hippie. "What are you proudest of?" the judges ask. "Ain't nothin but love, motherfuckers," he responds, then bends over and spreads his buttcheeks. A putrid smell wafts through the bar. It is really a very bad smell. Despite the Penis Kittens' best scent-diffusing efforts, there is not enough Febreeze in the world. Rip Van Dinkle wins Act II.
Act III: Swimwear
Frenchie has dropped out but the putrid smell is here to stay. "Swimwear," it turns out, consists of gauzey white thongs with unfortunate diaper connotations. Contestants cat-walk down the bar again. Flowrider absolutely refuses to stop bending over. Contestants all sport similarly shaped gauze diapers, so this segment is a little superfluous. This time, the suit covers their balls; everyone's junk looks just a little bit larger. The Delivery Man wins, breaking his tie with Rip Van Dinkle and earning him the pageant title of Brooklyn's Smallest Penis. There is pomp, but few people notice: we're at the three hour mark. We exit. Outside, the bloggers swap bad-smell stories and smokes while The Delivery Man chats up one of the Penis Kittens. When I go up to Chicken Bitches for an interview, she's genial and sassy. What did she think of The Delivery Man? "I hope he poaches that pussy right."
Follow Johannah on Twitter @jjjjjjjjohannah