One Whipped Mother

Googling My Hand

I was having a hell of a time yesterday searching for information regarding the weird symptoms I've been having lately -- "hell of a time" meaning bad time, not rollicking, good time. You'd think there would be at least four thousand and fifty-six sites directly pertaining to my unholy pain, grotesquely misshapen hand, and intense self-hatred, but nooooo, all I get are a few S&M porn sites. Sure, my search includes words like "red," "swollen," and "unholy pain," but come on already, Google. I can't be the only person dealing with this problem.

So I got to thinking...why not search for "chicken penis"? I've never seen a chicken penis, never even thought about seeing one until today. So I threw "Chicken Penis" into the engine.

Which lead me to nothing, of course, because it became obvious to me that “chicken,” although certainly an appropriate reference, is most often used in the feminine vein -- hens do not in fact have penises; they have cloacas, for Christ's sake. Cloacas, I eagerly learned, are where the males (roosters) supposedly deposit their sperm.

So I searched for "Rooster Penis," and lo and behold...

Again with the nothing. There is mention of the rooster penis on some poultry anatomy sites, but it's only a brief mention, no meat there. I wanted meat, I wanted to see that rooster penis so bad I could taste it. So I Googled under images.

Surely there are hundreds if not thousands of rooster penis pictures out there in the world. I'd even settle for a crudely drawn diagram.

No such luck. Not even a diagram.

Apparently, the rooster penis is only a myth, and hens are, in reality, parthenogenic creatures that scoff at the notion of rooster penises.

In the poultry world, roosters are looked upon with disdain and revulsion. Roosters are the "dirty caste," the untouchables, which explains why they’re often so darn testy.. Roosters have tremendous wattles to deflect from the fact they are useless creatures with no real reason for existence -- those bright, flashy red flapples of flesh serve not only as a nostalgic remnant of a time long ago when roosters had penises and needed to attract the ladies (presumably ending shortly after the Coolidge era), but as defensive warning to the other animals of the barnyard, much like a cobra's hood. When antagonized by cruel hens (and sometimes pigs), the rooster shakes its head back and forth in a rapid "no, no thank you" motion thus causing the wattle to flap to and fro; the blur of flapping red skin frightens and intimidates the name-calling, corn-throwing hens (or pigs), which results in the rooster crowing at the morning sun in peace.

It is my theory that the "rooster penis" lie has continued to be perpetuated by sympathetic farmers all over the world due to the fear of widespread rooster-bashing. They like their roosters because roosters wake them up at the crack of dawn, help the farmers with chores such as scratching straw and chasing unruly hens back to their roosts. Roosters also offer the farmers that certain down-on-the-farm je ne sais quoi,, a homey, aw shucks, it's nineteen twenty-two! kind of appeal that we all find so comforting. Can you imagine a farm without a rooster? Of course you can't. A farm without a rooster would just be so wrong, unhealthy. It would be un-American, man. In times like these, nobody can afford to appear un-American, especially the farmers.

So the farmers lie, and we buy into that lie, and really, it's no big deal. What's a little non-existent penis in the whole scheme of things?

I feel sorry for roosters now.

posted by Ms. Lori @ 11:00 AM