I get a lot of media pitches from PR companies asking me to share their infographics or repost their pre-written articles. Some of them offer me items to review or giveaway. Often, I'm not interested. That's just not the kind of blog I write. But recently I got a pitch that I just couldn't delete. It was one of those "don't want to see, but can't look away" scenarios.
The pitch came from Drafthouse Films, which makes sense because I'm sure they had to be drinking when they came up with the idea to produce a documentary on the Icelandic Phallological Museum. This tiny museum -- apparently size does not matter in museums -- takes about 4 to 7 minutes to get through, longer if you're a woman.
What can you expect if you go? I have to quote here because I don't think I could write this any better: This tiny museum "houses four decades worth of mammalian members, from a petite field mouse to the colossal sperm whale, and every “thing” in between. But, lamentably, the collection lacks the holy grail of phallic phantasmagoria: a human specimen."
Enter an elderly Icelandic "player" and an odd American whose wanker is named "Elmo." (You just thought, "tickle me," didn't you?) Both of these guys want to be the one to donate their manhood to the frigid (it is in Iceland) collection of phalluses. Phallusi? I digress...
The Icelandic dude signed an agreement that upon his demise, his "specimen" shall live on in a glass jar in what has to be the world's only peniseum. The American, greedy for the glory apparently, is all ready to cut ties with his noodle while he is still alive, but not until after he has the stars and stripes tattooed on it...while. it. is. still. ATTACHED! (I hope the tattoo artist got a big tip, er, gratuity.)
He tries to sell it as patriotism, "I want people to know the biggest and the best came from the states," but I'm not buying it. I think it's Freud's famous envy theory to the max. I could not make this up if I tried, people. Well, maybe I could if I'd had a few drinks first, but honest to blog I have been sipping nothing but Diet Coke.
Did I mention the movie is called "The Final Member?" The best part? The producers of the film have offered me a screener so I can view the whole documentary. Bwahahaha! Is it bad that I want to throw a party with my best gal pals so we can all watch it together? I think I'll serve cocktail wienies.
Tell the kids to leave the room, I'm about to share the trailer with you. There is nothing to see, really. Well, a bunch of animal kingdom genitalia in Mason jars. But no human nudity (the tattoo scene is blurred out). If I don't show this to you, you won't believe me. Plus, I hate to laugh alone.
For realz, people. I told you I wasn't making this up. And really, it's no different than brains being on display. In fact, some may argue it's exactly the same.