First allow me to say that I give my most solemn vow that, after you have suffered through the title of this month's tidbit, I shall eschew puns for the remainder of the article, har...- difficult though it inevitably will be. (See? I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.) Many of you may have heard about, or even watched footage of, the particular incident I wanted to mention in this column: in Taipei, on October 29, 2000, a group of frighteningly few practictioners of Qi Gong, the oriental meditation technique of which I have discussed variants in other columns, pulled a huge truck loaded with several dozen people. The item which makes this of note is the fact that they did so using only their penises (Or is that 'penii?' Anyone got the plural of that handy? If so, shame on you!)
Now I don't know about you, but the more I think about this, the more it bothers me. And where to begin? The obvious, I guess; I suppose it's normal for me as a man to say, first off, OUCH! And the unavoidable follow ups, of course, such as, who's the genius whose brainchild this was, what on Earth is this supposed to prove, and I guess-when you get right down to it-all of this can be stated in the much easier to type and eternally more elegant: Why?
So I won't even bother. Do I need to? Isn't it the normal reaction? Sure it is. I guess stage two of questioning is more along the lines of 'how.' As in, are they actually made of flesh, and if not, how does a guy obtain one? And therein lies their point, I suppose. If their brand of meditation can make an overall useless (in the sense of performing menial tasks) and non-prehensile appendage serve in such an atypical manner, then we're supposed to assume they're on to something. And then, presumably, ask someone who can provide an enlightening answer all of the variants of 'how.'
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