reclaiming the scrotum
If the penis is Tony Orlando, then the testes are Dawn—two background singers overshadowed by a hammy front man.
Phallocentrism's flaw is that it mistakes the penis as the true male genital—the giver of life—when the dick is merely a shuttle bus delivering the squirmy worms hatched inside the testicles. And for all the blibbity-blab one hears about women being the primary givers of life, a womb is a glorified halfway house inside which nestles a tadpole birthed in a man's nutsack.
Life starts inside deez nutz. Don't ever forget it.
And yet the scrotum, due in equal parts to its ugly name and its droopy, pachydermal configuration, doesn't get nearly the credit as do the aforementioned genitals. While women may worship (or ridicule) a man's ding-a-ling, you'll never hear them drooling over "That SEXY set of testicles!" No matter how hideous a man's yarbles may be, fellows never experience ball-insecurity. It's the same way that they aren't obsessed with the relative sex appeal of, say, their kneecaps. A man's family jewels, despite their primacy in procreation, aren't considered to be sex objects.
It's time to change all that. Let us reclaim our scrota, gentlemen. Let us bask in their mystical, sexually magickal allure. Let us shave, oil, and adorn them in the manner of the ancients. Let us beseech our partners to lick them and weigh them in their palms as part of foreplay.
Knock down the walls that shroud our balls!
