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One useful definition of “art” is anything made or done with the intent to express, explore or imagine. By this definition…
Humans can make art.
Humans can make robots.
Humans cannot make robots that make art.
That’s because, as yet, no one has even approached creating a robot or computer program that a quorum of modern philosophers or cognitive scientists would grant has “intent.” For something to be art, you need to have a whole personality fleshed out, because you need to have MEANT something. Art cannot come about as a by-product. For example, if a farmer plows thousands of acres with the goal of arranging their various crops efficiently, only to find that when observed from space it makes the Mona Lisa, that’s structured beauty created with intent – but it’s not art.
THIS is art:

THIS is ART:

THIS IS ART!!!!!!!!!!

And this isn’t.

…even though it IS obviously the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, flavor-blasted in sex molecules designed to impact my Bliss Point with a precision only today’s modern Tech Barons can bring to bear. I mean, that image is “Elon Musk” hot!
Still, because it lacks a sense of coherent intentionality, the best generative AI art can do is a blanded-out impression of whatever library of copyrighted work its database was built on. Without intense input from a skilled operator, it will never achieve the signature broken-brained specificity of human erotica…like, say, this tasteful shot of a cowgirl-coded Jade from Jackie Chan Adventures banging a cow-lady hooked to a milking machine.

AI could never. That’s why the only Al I jerk off with will remain “Weird” Al Yankovic. Here are our TOP FIVE SONGS FOR JERKIN’ OFF TOGETHER:
1. “White & Splurty”
2. “Weasel Stroking Day”
3. “I Love Cocky Load”
4. “Another One Likes to Nut”
5. “Palmish Pair-o-guys (with apologies to Coolio)”
Anyway, my Big Point here is that the advent of low-effort generative artslop dumbs down, homogenizes, and un-weirds everything, thereby ruining it. Why would someone running a penis enlargement scam break out MS Paint and doodle a big ol’ dong when they can simply have their computer whip up photorealistic clickbait? WHO WILL TELL ME TO SQUEEZE LEMON JUICE ON MY COCK NOW??

And so, to mark the passing of a very specific kind of art, I’d like to take you on a tour of the long (heh heh) proud tradition of penis enlargement scams and the art used to sell them.

Indeed, the quest for Big Dick Energy has permeated human culture since time immemorial, and can be traced through the evolution of multiple ancient religious pantheons. The Greek fertility god Priapus, from whom we get the word “priapism,” was always depicted with a massive boner, as was the Egyptian god of power and manliness, Min.

Gawt’DAMN, now that’s a man! He’s prepared to fuck, fight, or dive for pennies at the municipal pool at a moment’s notice. Here’s Priapus, similarly ready to rock.

“Knock knock!”
“Who’s there?”
“Priapus!”
“I hate to complain good sir, but you just smashed our door in with your dick. When Winter comes, we shall surely perish.”
“Pry a pussy off the stack, that hot satyr’s back!”
Ancient Egyptian papyri and Chinese medical texts both mention herbal ointments being applied to the phallus to increase virility and penis size, and Greek athletes used a Kynodesmē or “dog tie” not only to hold their tallywhackers in place for sports but also in an attempt to extend the foreskin for a lengthier look.

See? Isn’t that just the biggest dick you’ve ever seen? No? How about this one?

That’s a Grecian urn featuring an erect man riding a flying erection. Here’s an old statue of Priapus with a giant dick and wearing a hat of dicks. I wonder what’s in the bag! Dicks, I bet.

That hat is actually an example of a “fascinus,” which was a Greek or Roman talisman – or should I say phallusman? – worn to celebrate the awesomeness of penises in and of themselves. And yes, that’s where we get the word “fascinate.” The verb “to be interested in” literally descends from how enthralling ancient peoples found the dong. Which I can understand, frankly…you live in the past, everything is awful, there’s no medicine, but at least there’s a rod stuck to your body you can rub for fleeting pleasure.

“Getting fucked by Zeus in the form of a bull gives your dick wiiiiiiiiings!” Here’s some dicks with wings and their tails and feet are also dicks. You can’t tell from the images, but when you ring the little bells the bells sing “dick” and “cock” and “weiner” and such.

Finally, just for good measure, here’s a guy who’s had enough of all these dicks and decided to fight his own dick, a tiger.

So it’s safe to say we’ve always been obsessed with big, meaty schlongs. Perhaps that’s because across many ancient cultures, phallocentric patriarchies often came to the (totally biologically unfounded) conclusion that the penis was the source of all life, and the woman’s sexual apparatus more like a vessel, shell, or trusty pack mule you stow your gear in. Thus, a big hard fat fucking sausage often became a symbol of power and virility, and penis enlargement spells, scams, creams, traditions and rituals have inevitably sprung up across time and around the globe.
One intuitive-if-painful way to lengthen your penis is to simply suspend a weight from it, and many ancient cultures figured that out pretty quickly. The Sadhu tribe in India, certain Sudanese tribes, and the Cholomecs in Peru all share a cultural tradition of hanging dong – literally. The Sudanese also claim ownership of “jelqing,” which is essentially just massaging and stretching your dick out with your hands every day. A woven, basket-like sheath was sometimes used for the same purpose.

I wonder how it smelled! Like dicks, I bet.
But not ALL penis enlargement strategies of the ancients are as innocuous as hanging a weight from your cock or trapping it in a cage. The Kama Sutra describes a man enlarging his manhood by rubbing it with insect bristles and toxic plants, while in Brazil in the 1500s the Topinama tribe is recorded as encouraging poisonous snakes to bite them on the crotch to induce a semi-permanent allergic swelling. Those snakes are all dead now, but try not to blame the penises.
Then of course there are the surgical modifications. History is rife with both primitive and refined penile implants, piercings and addenda. Once we reached a medieval level of technology, clamps, racks and stretching contraptions got added to the mix, often resulting in outright manglings or deformity.

Ambitious cockspeople of the Middle Ages even resorted to downing concoctions like chopped earthworms, ground leeches, and washing their dicks repeatedly in sheep’s milk to swell them up like soggy cereal. There was a huge demand for huge dicks! They don’t just grow on trees you know, illuminated medieval manuscript illustrations notwithstanding.

The first time someone took a needle full of body fat from elsewhere in the body and injected it into some dude’s dick JUST for the purposes of enlargement? 1893. The first penis pump was patented seventy years ago, around the same time skin was first “electively grafted onto the shaft of a penis to increase its girth.” Hey! Ew!

If at this point you’re thinking “huh, all of these techniques sound highly damaging to tender tissue,” you’re right as a ruined penis. Brutally stretching or hanging weights from your cock may lengthen it, but only by sacrificing girth and creating “micro-tears” in your weiner-meat. Repeated scientific studies have found no reliable connection between jelqing, chopped earthworms, rubbing your dick against a snake’s teeth, and anything good that you should be doing.

I think the last sentence of one wide-ranging study of penis enhancement outcomes and satisfaction levels by the noted Dr. Danlop says it best:

Nevertheless, the quest for an artificially enhanced crotch continues, and is big business to this day. Despite common complications like fatal embolisms, disfigurement and sexual impairment, thousands of men a year undergo elective penile enhancement surgery, get an implant, or have hyaluronic acid injected into their dingles to make the cells get irritated and swell up. It’s like a venomous snake bite but you get to pay for it and work through your HMO! Hm, let a venomous snake bite me on the cock or navigate the U.S. healthcare system…tough call.
Then of course there are the more innocuous scams, only out for your time and money and not your flesh. Modern examples include online covens-for-hire and voodoo doctors who promise they will make your penis grow remotely if you send them some quick cash.

Don’t believe me? Ask Antwain from Georgia!

Tragically, even these practitioners have slid quickly from OBJECTIVELY AMAZING human-made doodles or staged photos…

…to obvious, generic AI slop.


And that makes me sad. Sad for art, sad for scammers, sad for the world of weirdness that makes humanity the undefeated goofiest motherfuckers ever to walk the planet. It’s CLEAR that we want bigger dicks, and it’s CLEAR that the science isn’t there, and it’s CLEAR that we don’t care. To celebrate that very human attitude, I will now click through all the old-style clipart penis enlargement ads I can find, do the thing and report back on the results. Wish me luck…
PENIS STARTING LENGTH: 5.25 inches.

NOTES: This ad, like the orange and lemon ads from the top of the article, is probably obliquely referencing the fact that Sildenafil (generic Viagra) works better if you’re topped up on your Vitamin C levels. That’s it. That’s all they mean. So if you click through, you’re actually whisked away to the bluechew site where you can buy a monthly subscription to pills that make your dick bigger but only in the sense that EVERYONE’S PENIS IS LARGER when erect. Gotta love scammer logic! Anyway, I poured an orange Fanta on my dick and waited 30 days.
PENIS LENGTH: A fantastic big 5.25 inches.

NOTES: Clicking through takes you to a site where a man named Thomas Weaver tries to sell you a subscription plan for Sildenafil gummies and a guide to jelqing at home. Anyway, I held a bottle of shampoo next to my dick.
PENIS LENGTH: A fantastic big dandruff-free 5.25 inches.

NOTES: Also a Sildenafil subscription service. Since the image clearly shows the person holding their dick with both hands, I had a trusted friend press some garlic onto my glans.
PENIS LENGTH: A fantastic big dandruff-free 5.25 inches that’s vampire-safe.

NOTES: Well that’s just jerking off, right? Okay. I can do that.
PENIS LENGTH: Who cares?! I feel fleetingly good and that’s what’s important.

NOTES: Oh wait, that’s how you jerk off? NOW you tell me! No wonder it didn’t work. Okay, I’m going to go tug real hard on just the edges of my foreskin and glans until I cum, then report back.
PENIS LENGTH: Zero inches? Negative? It retracted into my body and is whimpering fearfully like a whipped dog.

NOTES: Darn. Okay. If I’m being honest, I don’t really want to squeeze my testicles with my thumbs for a couple weeks, but anything for HOTDOG I suppose.
PENIS LENGTH: When I squeezed my balls my dick popped back out like one of those stress toys where the eyeballs bug out. Upon further inspection, 5.25 inches.

NOTES: Okay, that’s good to hear. I live in Oakland. Do those pills have anything to do with it?
PENIS LENGTH: Mine’s unchanged, but it’s not too late to get a call next month from some very excited Santa Rosan.

NOTES: Oh man, bad news for Santa Rosa guy! But at least now we can back away from dangerous pharmaceutical interventions and pivot back to something more natural. Anyway, I put painter’s tape around my cock where the Fanta used to be.
PENIS LENGTH: Much longer if you count the roll of tape hanging from the end, but I fear the metamorphosis is only temporary.

NOTES: No notes. Perfect. Placed some toothpaste next to my dick.
PENIS LENGTH: A minty fresh, dandruff-free fantastic big 5.25 inches.

NOTES: Okay, I’ll stop joshing around! I know they didn’t really mean to put the toothpaste next to your dick…so this time I actually applied store-bought toothpaste to the shaft of my penis every night while I slept, like a serious person.
PENIS LENGTH: Couldn’t sleep, too excited. Results inconclusive, but also self-whitening and cavity-resistant.

NOTES: I don’t see why doing it in the morning instead of when I sleep will make a difference, but just for the sake of thoroughness I went for it.
PENIS LENGTH: It worked! My penis grew +4.6 inches every morning for three weeks! Currently clocking in at a fairly sizable 101.85 inches or roughly eight and a half feet. Continuing…

NOTES: Also worked, although now my dick smells like fertilizer.
PENIS LENGTH: Only added another four and a half inches over 30 days, so toughing it out with a pitiful 106.35-inch dick over here.

NOTES: You’re the boss, chief!
PENIS LENGTH: 175.5 inches. Respectable to be sure. Also now my ass smells like apple vinegar, which helps distract from the fertilizer smell up top.

NOTES: Really? The dick too? I have to go back to the store for more vinegar now. Okay, whatever.
PENIS LENGTH: Well, the bottle exploded and plastic shrapnel went everywhere, but by tying a series of bedsheets together, marking them, then measuring that, I’ve pegged my final-form dick at somewhere around 300 inches even, or roughly 25 feet. Here it is removed from my body and placed next to a 25-foot sponge for comparison.

Now bring on the snakes! Just kidding, that would be insane. I am still a little unhappy with the girth though, since stretching my dick out to ten yards long has made it appear “slimmer” from certain angles. And when you’re looking for width, only one name comes to mind…REJUVALL.

Or at least it will from now on, after the horrible things Rejuvall has done to my 25-foot penis are seared into your memory forever. First, after a brief consultation and credit check, I was treated to the Rejuvall Affirmall PerMaXL P.E.T. ExoSurge procedure.

This involved liposuctioning my FUPA-fat and then cutting the tendon holding the top of my dick to my torso so it sort of “leans out” more. I also asked why, in their ad, they use arrows indicating “circumference” right under the word “width,” but the doctor just looked at me like this:

After that, it was a simple matter of harvesting some fat from my thigh to inject into the shaft for plumpness!

And then after THAT, it was an even simpler matter of breaking part of my pelvis, pulling the internal shaft of my dick forward, and implanting a physical barrier to prevent it from returning to its proper position so the bones knit with it outside instead of inside! Easy peasy, donezo!

…except of course for the three-phase penile stretching protocol, which also involves a penis pump strapped to your leg, but not the leg they took the fat from because that leg is basically useless now.

FINAL PENIS LENGTH RESULTS – Predominantly I regret what I have done.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Eric Christian Berg, who anxiously scrolled all the way past each of the 85 dicks in this article to see if his name was at the bottom. It’s my favorite bit!

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single guinea pig in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. That’s right, crowd, I’m sick of doing upsetting things. This one’s just for me, a woman with an absolutely insatiable need to see guinea pigs in top hats. I never thought I would be able to enjoy my two hobbies, Jane Austen and rodents, at the same time, but technology has advanced to a point where almost anything is possible, and this is what we use it for.

My most controversial opinion is that we should remake all of the classics with guinea pigs. They’re so expressive, so easy to wrangle into a variety of hats, and there’s not a third thing I could possibly want from them. A Guinea Pig Pride and Prejudice is like the William Wegman dog thing, except way less sexual, and also way more sexual because it is very directly the story of two guinea pigs falling in love and entering into the union of Christian marriage.
This is the kind of weird artifact that I worry AI will rob the world of. I don’t want to see a made-up guinea pig with three ears reenact Pride and Prejudice. Knowing that a real human had to wrangle the guinea pigs into the hats is what makes it fun. Picturing someone painstakingly constructing a tiny period accurate guinea pig croquet set is the fun part. Here are some guinea pigs with no hats. Look how boring!

The opening article of this line is a lie. There is no acknowledgment at all within the work that the stars of this Pride and Prejudice reenactment are guinea pigs. It’s a very straightforward retelling with a full cast that appears to be made up mostly of lady guinea pigs, so it’s actually A Gay Guinea Pig Pride And Prejudice. The ladies are really strutting their stuff in the cast photos. Check out the legs on Doris, and Madel has clearly just gotten her hair done. These ladies are ready to put on a serious production of Jane Austen’s most beloved work.

So now that you’re familiar with our cast, let’s begin the story with Act 1, in which the handsome redhead Mr. Bingley, a single man of large fortune, comes into the lives of the Bennet sisters. Note how the photographer even cast a red-headed guinea pig in a nod to the red-haired Mr. Bingley of the famous 2005 Pride And Prejudice adaptation. You can really feel Mr. Bingley’s desperation to escape the rigid ideals of society in this picture. Or, maybe the guinea pig is trying to wriggle out of his hat. Either way, it’s a perfect picture.

We get a layout of the Bennett family, and then we cut straight to the party where Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy meet. Absolutely no filler in this adaptation. We haven’t got time for nuance. We’ve got sooo many guinea pig fainting couches to fit into the story. The chemistry between our two leads is immediately electrifying. Elizabeth is looking at Mr. Darcy like he’s a calcium rich chew.

There’s the iconic quote about how enchanting Mr. Darcy finds Elizabeth’s eyes, and you know what? It just hits a little differently when those eyes are on the sides of her head, like a prey animal. I agree this guinea pig is enchanting.

Of course, Elizabeth’s sister Jane and Darcy’s BFF Bingley fall in love. I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with Jane when she’s wearing this absolutely friggin’ fantastic hat? They clearly had to design a hat specifically to fit this guinea pig’s voluminous hair, and they crushed it. The costume designer for the production is Tess Newall. Her contributions to the project were so vital that she’s credited alongside photographer Alex Goodwin and Jane Austen as a co-creator of this book. I don’t care if she went to fashion school hoping to make it to the Parisian runway; this is better.

As we all know, this is the point in the story where the evil Mr. Wickham, deflowerer of innocent virgins, enters the story and catches Elizabeth’s eye. According to Jane Austen, he had “all the best parts of beauty- a fine countenance, a good figure, and a happy readiness of conversation.” Let’s see this stud.

Wow, what a fucking scumbag. There’s some obvious type casting going on here. Of course, Darcy sees Wickham and is immediately like, “Oh hell no. That guinea pig tried to fuck my fifteen-year-old sister.” I hope there’s someone reading this article who’s never read Pride and Prejudice and the only version of it they will ever know is me describing how the guinea pigs did it.

The tension between the two is palpable. I don’t know what they did to fill Mr. Darcy’s eye with such rage. Take away a carrot? Could be take away a carrot. They hate that. Of course, Elizabeth only knows what Wickham tells her about Darcy, which is that they grew up together and Darcy is jealous of Wickham because his Father loved Wickham more than Darcy and even left Wickham a large inheritance, which Darcy refused to give him. Do we have a photo of Darcy and Wickham together as children? That feels essential to the story.

Oh good. I’m pretty sure in the story they did wear enormous hand-embroidered doilies with their initials on them. This picture is giving me an idea for a spinoff called Pride And Prejudice Babies. Probably in that one, we would leave out the part where Wickham runs off with Elizabeth’s fifteen-year-old sister, perfectly named Lydia. Not in this one, though. In this one, the guinea pig is still a tramp.
At this point in the story, Darcy, who’s been wrestling with his feelings about Elizabeth for a while without telling her, randomly pops up while she’s on vacation and is like, “I’m sorry you’re so poor, but for some reason I’m in love with you anyway. Let’s get married.” Elizabeth says no in a big way, and he is devastated. I mean, just look at him. They definitely took this poor man’s carrot away.

God, I don’t even know how to tell you what happens next because it’s so awful. We find out that Mr. Wickham is secretly… a gamester! Not only that, but he’s guilty of wanton profligacy. His greed sickens me, but the tiny little playing cards and dice on the teeny tiny poker table heals my soul.

Elizabeth is upset about the way she treated Darcy when she finds out that Wickham sucks and massively disrespecting him in public is actually the least Darcy could do. She realizes that her family is pretty poor, and being married to a rich guy would probably be radical, and she is so depressed that her family sends her on vacation so that she can stop killing their vibe. Then who should she run into but Mr. Darcy again, and the tension between them is palpable.

He does still love you, Elizabeth! I yell at the book. Guinea Pig Elizabeth does not respond. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s in a book or because she’s a guinea pig. Perhaps she’s too distraught by the news from her family that her fifteen-year-old sister has run away with Mr. Darcy! He did it again! Look at that fluffy rapscallion. So proud of himself. He’s got a little drum to play a little victory march for taking Lydia’s virginity, and he won’t even marry her!

Darcy has to track down Wickham and pay him a bunch of money to convince him to marry silly, impulsive Lydia. The poor girl just wanted to get laid, and now she’s got a husband who’s a gamester. A gamester! Darcy tells Bingley to hurry up and marry Jane, so now Lydia’s got two sisters married off and she’s like, “actually the whole thing where Darcy bribed Mr. Wickham to marry Lydia was pretty hot maybe I’ll marry him and be rich and happy with my husband who’s kind of rude to men who are creeps, which is actually an awesome personality trait and not a bad one.”

This would, without a doubt, be Jane Austen’s favorite adaptation of her work. No one has ever captured the romance, scandal, and hats in the way that these guinea pigs have. They should do versions of every classic story starring guinea pigs. Wait, I’m sorry, they have, including the birth of Jesus Christ (and his litter of siblings, I’m assuming).

This is the only medium I want to read any book in from now on. I want A Guinea Pig War And Peace, a Guinea Pig Handmaid’s Tale, maybe not A Guinea Pig Fifty Shades Of Grey. Probably don’t make that one with guinea pigs. Unless you give Christian Grey a really sick hat.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: SpaceJamFan, who also happens to be a tiny guinea pig in an adorable hat, but for reasons completely unrelated to this article.