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20 February 2006
Rock Stars Getting Plastered
by Paul A.

Over the last couple of weeks I’ve discussed two legendary penises. The purportedly preserved penis of Grigory Rasputin (well, something’s in that jar in St. Petersburg) and the mythic penis of John Dillinger, allegedly on display at the Smithsonian Museum (it’s not). What makes these penises legendary? Part of it has to be the preservation. Okay, the fact that they were super-sized knobs played a part, but there are lots of famous guys (Cary Grant, Steve McQueen) whose penises - while renowned - were not quite legendary. Now, you could say that John Holmes and Long Dong Silver are legends, and part of what makes them legendary is the fact that we can see the beefstick and judge for ourselves. There’s something to gawk at, and seeing is believing.

Without the visual confirmation it’s all just hearsay. Warren Beatty may have impressed Madonna, but as far as I know there’s no photo or plaster cast of Warren’s dick for me to make an assessment. The reputed magnificence of Warren’s bed-flute will die with him and the women and crew members (or whomever, really, what do I know about Warren’s shenanigans?) who were witness to it.

This seems a shame. The record books are there to authenticate amazing feats and facts. Human genius in its myriad forms has been amply recorded and celebrated. And this is all available, literally, at the push of a button. Knobs, on the other hand, are private. This is a pan-cultural phenomenon. The biblical story of original sin and fig leaves seems to reflect a genuine human tendency towards bashfulness. As a result, we’re left with rumor, reminiscences and rap-lyrics to judge what greatness there may be amongst us.

Without doubt, this is a major disappointment for the fabulously endowed who’d like to let the world know about it. Big guys want to shout it to the skies. But outside of sashaying through the locker room and wearing Speedos, there aren’t many opportunities to advertise one’s meat-and-two-veg. I had a roommate who used to take off his clothes whenever there were more than three people in the room. Jim Morrison whipped his out in concert. Errol Flynn was notorious for unsheathing his manhood at parties and using it to hammer out a tune on the Steinway. LBJ used to throw pool parties to show off his “presidential” prick and it’s been suggested that Tommy Lee left his notorious Honeymoon Video lying around with a big note saying “Private Sex Tape: Please don’t steal and distribute over the Internet.” And you can hardly blame them. They have the (let’s call it) misfortune of possessing an attribute that can never be attributed. It would be like doing a good deed that’s never acknowledged. You tell yourself it’s not important but hey, come on.

There have been very few recorded attempts to preserve penises over the course of history. Some wives are known to have lopped off their dead hubby’s penises as a keepsake. Rasputin’s daughter kept what she believed was daddy’s dick in a leather satchel (turned out to be a sea cucumber but hey, you can’t fault her for trying). Penis preservation used to be a messy and macabre business, but that was before Cynthia Plaster Caster came along.

For those who don’t know, Cynthia Plaster Caster (nee Albritton) makes plaster casts of rock stars’ dicks. Using a technique she’s perfected over the years, Cynthia has done more to preserve the penises of famous men than anyone in history. Cynthia’s story begins in the swinging sixties (naturally), when she was given an art assignment to make a plaster cast of something solid that would hold its shape. In a stroke of genius, Cynthia hit upon the notion of casting a guy’s dick, and surprise, surprise, the idea was an immediate hit. Word spread, and soon Cynthia and her able assistant, the fellating femme fatale Pamela Des Barres, were ushered to the front of every groupie line.

Now, plaster casting has been around since ancient times. The ancient Egyptians used the technique to model parts of the human body and the Romans copied thousands of Greek statues. Prince Albert made casts of just about every sculpture in the known world. But if anybody prior to Cynthia thought to cast a dick, their works have not survived. This may be because casting a penis is not easy. For one thing the shape must be maintained for at least one minute, until the plaster firms. Now, I know what you’re thinking “One minute? I’ve had erections on the bus that have lasted an hour!” But having your dick cast is not the erotic experience you might imagine it to be. For one thing, the mixture is cold and doesn’t feel remotely pleasurable. So to firm things up, Cynthia used a fluffer to fellate the males while she mixed up the plaster concoction. Once the goop was on, a tit show kept everything stiff until the plaster hardened.

After some trial and error (she tried to do Keith Moon with hot wax – it didn’t work out), Cynthia eventually settled on dental mold plaster as her material of choice. Her first successful mold was destined to become her greatest, the very large and very famous cock of Jimi Hendrix.

According to the specs provided by the Cynthia P. Caster Foundation website, Jimmi’s piece wasn’t that long, but it was as thick as a woman’s wrist. It measured 6.25 inches in circumference and was a whopping 2 inches in diameter, which coincidentally is the exact circumference of a Fender Strat at the 16th fret. From Jimmi, she went on to cast dozens of dicks, mostly belonging to rock stars and their entourages. She eventually expanded her repertoire to include filmmakers and women’s breasts, and has lately expressed an interest in casting Bill Clinton.

Cynthia predictably gets dozens of requests from rock stars looking for a leg-up, or just wanting to immortalize something other than their guitar solos. She turns them all down, in case you’re thinking of offering yourself in service. But she has begun to provide “hands-off” but personal instruction for couples at $500-a-pop, which I believe includes two breasts and a dick. Cynthia exhibits her work every once and a while and she also sells limited edition plaster reproductions of the more noteworthy items in her collection. Hendrix’s whopper-chopper goes for a whopping $1,500 and lesser dicks go for half that. In case you think that’s a little steep, remember that the money goes to the Cynthia P. Caster foundation, a “legally sanctioned not-for-profit institution whose mission is to give money away to cutting-edge musicians and artists in financial need.”

Thanks to Cynthia’s pioneering work, the world has been awakened to the possibility of preserving for posterity a part of the male anatomy that is otherwise kept forever from view. There will be those who insist on its insignificance, but I for one would put better than even money on the odds of someone, given the choice of viewing either Einstein’s dick or his brain, as opting for the slightly less thoughtful part of his anatomy. With Warren Beatty it would be a slam-dunk for dickdom. Unfortunately for Warren fans, unless he and Annette are willing to submit to Cynthia’s “hands off” instructions, we’re unlikely to get an opportunity for a viewing.

Pics courtesy of the Cynthia P. Caster Foundation

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