27 july, 2000
This is a lamp. It's made from the stretched testicle skin of a sheep.
These are whale penises. They are pointy.
who wants to look at millions of naked animal parts?
A couple of months ago, I finally got to visit Iceland. Got a ticket on the cheap from Icelandair, and stayed in a couple of super-duper guesthouses in the center of Reykjavik, to keep the typically expensive Icelandic vacation somewhat reasonable. I did the usual Kim-On-Tour activities, but one subject of today's review took even me by surprise.
I paid four bucks to see a bunch of pee-pees. Oh, yes. Picture it: small Indiana town, Mom and me sit on her couch with my photo album, Mom points to strange photo, wonders what is that dear?
That is Hith Islenzka Rethasafn, AKA the Icelandic Phallological Museum. It is presumably the "only museum in the world to contain a collection of phallic specimans belonging to all the various types of mammal found in a a single country." In a nutshell (no pun intended), it's a cross between a college biology lab (family jewels soaking up your admiration in formaldehyde jars), and a Wisconsin hunting lodge ("trophies" of various specimans mounted and hung on wall). It's a big honkin' penis museum, and every critter in Iceland is represented. Whee-hoo.
For years, the founder of this museum has been trying to establish the study of phallology as a legitimate science. Like, he's hoping college kids might be able to choose it as a major someday. (Note to self, no kid of mine dammit.) He wasn't around on the day I visited, but his assistant was. She was a perfectly pleasant middle-aged woman, very accommodating, and answered everyone's questions with great enthusiasm. She really likes her job. I didn't know whether to envy her penis job, or fear her. It was a tough call.
Nonetheless, she allowed me into the back workshop, where they taxidermy acquired specimans. It looked like a simple enough operation, and quite like any other woodworking shop. Except, of course, for the three-foot-long log that would soon be keeping an unfortunate beluga whale's manhood straight and spiffy for future visitors.
As much as I tried, I simply didn't enjoy being in here. It was totally the worst museum ever, and I really made an effort! I even tried to think like a guy who finds himself in the middle of a big booby museum, and NOTHING! I tried to appreciate its scientific value, and again, nada. There are no human specimans in the collection, although a few guys will bequeath parts when they die. But even then, yuck! Who wants to see Scrotum & Co. without the dude attached? Eeew!
Hith Islenzka Redasafn just can't win, folks. Frankly (really, I'm sorry about this pun situation), the "biological study" angle isn't very compelling. Then, when you go through the gift shop on your way out, the erotic doo-dads just gross you out. I'm not turned on after looking at twelve whale erections, a pickled polar bear scrotum, or walrus testicles. Heaven forbid they should ever decide to install an interactive area --- "Horny Whale, The Movie". I'm giving myself the creeps here. On to the next item.
So I was scanning in these museum photos and brochures, and suddenly remembered that Darva Conger was naked this month in Playboy. Being as she "wanted her life back", what a great career move, eh? So I decided to see the pictures for myself. She looked a little pruny, even on her big wedding day, but nothing could be worse than the Manhood Gallery on my desk here. I joined the Playboy Cyber Club for an evening.
I cancelled my membership about five minutes later. Not that ol' Darv is an ugly woman. She's exactly what a lot of guys are looking for. She's thin, definitely works out a lot, and has thick blonde hair. Her boobs appear to be her own. She doesn't have any extra limbs or toes. Hooray for Darva. But I don't know that her naked butt is worth a half mil'.
Her photo shoot is just. . .boring. Oh, look, there's Darva standing on the beach. Whoo, more Darva, holding her breast on the beach. Look at Darva gaze at her breasts on the beach! And there's Darva again, lying down on the beach. What a lame photographer. Why not have her climb one of those big, jagged rocks? Building a sand castle? Up for some beach volleyball, Darva?
Go away, Darva. Get your life back. And if you run into that ex-hubby of yours, tell him that there's a museum in Iceland that's got a hankering for some donations.
The Icelandic Phallological Museum
Laugevegur 24
www.ismennt.is/not/phallus/ens1.htm
Playboy Magazine
www.playboy.com (duh)