I have
in the past been on crusades to find certain books or records/CD's
and just can't explain the short lived happiness when I actually find
them usually in some small, dusty back street shop. When I was a
seven-year-old child, I asked Santa for a life sized fully functional
Dalek. I would lay awake at night in excited anticipation counting
down the days until I would be joined with a piece of hardware that
would enable me to create the mayhem, and destruction that I could
only dream of. When I received a plastic and PVC suit on Christmas
day all my hopes and dreams were crushed, but the local bullies and
the teachers at St Joseph's junior school were safe from my planned
tyranny!
So it's
safe to say that I have wanted and craved to buy some odd things in
my time, but I have never, ever awoken any morning with a passion to
own Napoleon Bonaparte's penis!
I
remembered the strange story the other day, while having a coffee and
catch up with an old friend of mine. We were talking about a tribe of
people that worshipped Prince Philip, thinking he was a god.
As with
all good conversations, you start on one subject and end up on
something completely different. We then found ourselves talking about
pilgrims who travel thousands of miles to stand in reverence in front
of a small box that is said to contain a body part of some sort of
saint. I don't know what the logic to all this is, as the body part
will no doubt belong to some poor hapless sod that died a horrible
death many years ago. Most of the saints that the said body parts are
supposed to belong to never even existed, and if they did, if they were
so holy, how come they died? Sorry, I forgot. God sent his son down as a
human sacrifice didn't he? I have visited the un-holy land and been
to the place where they say Joshua/Jesus/Yeshua (a man of many names)
was finally buried/entombed. There were priests selling small wooden
parts of his coffin! The fact that people wouldn't have been buried
in coffins at this time doesn't seem to bother the faithful. My wife,
who is religious, something most people find odd as she is married to a
rabid non-believer, actually bought one of these relics. It is is
here in front of me as I type this.
We
visited Israel in the year 2000 and the piece of wood is in the shape
of the implement of torture used against the said son of God (a
cross, if you've not heard the story). It looks as new now as it did
on the day my wife bought it. I would bet my house that I'm older
than the tree that that piece of wood came from. But I saw at least
two people burst into tears at the thought of owning a piece of a non-existent coffin. Not only that, but just how big was this bloody
coffin?! They must have sold millions of pieces over the years. He
was either a giant, or he was buried in a forest!
For
some reason, as we had this morbid but fascinating conversation, I
suddenly remembered reading about Napoleon Bonaparte's penis going up
for sale many years ago. Like God, my mind also works in mysterious
ways, because I cannot give any reason why I should jump from that
conversation to Napoleon's dick! I remember reading that his doctor,
while doing the autopsy on the most famous of all Frenchmen (he was
actually Italian, by the way, and initially fought against the French) decided to
cut off his manhood! Why he would do this is beyond me, I cannot
think of any reason to do this! The doctor then gave Napoleon's
nugget to a priest. It was later sold on to another doctor for
$30,000, I think. Since then as much as $100,000 has been offered for
this useless piece of flesh.
There
are many descriptions of the appendage, ranging from a small shoelace
to a small piece of beef jerky. Do you notice the use of the word
'small' each time? This, I think, is to mock the former colossus of
Europe. The reason that it is small is because it no longer has a
blood supply or any hydration and had been unceremoniously lopped off
its former owner while having an unexpected autopsy. Why are people
so bothered about whether Napoleon had a big willy or not? And why am
I trying to defend the size of his manhood? Either way, it is such a
strange thing to want to own!
I
suppose I can understand people wanting to be able to touch history
in some way but there are some parts of history that I have no
interest in touching, Napoleon's willy being one of them. I have
written before about looking at the flat cap belonging to my wife's
father which hangs in my office. I always smile when I see this, as it
just seems to symbolise the man. He was such a gentle giant, a man
who wished no harm to anyone. So, for my wife and I, this hat is
priceless. The same goes for my father's carpentry tools: they, too,
have become relics of sorts. Though on going through them one day, I
did notice that he had nicked quite a few of my tools while I worked
with him!
So for
me body parts are not to be worshipped, or sold to morbid collectors:
they should be left with the original owner. But if you do want to
deal in body parts, why not get a donor card, and then if something should
happen to you, your misfortune can bring happiness to others so you,
in a strange way, also get to live on, helping someone else to have a
full and active life.
So. My
friend and I started by talking about Prince Philip and ended up
discussing an old shrivelled dick. That's what I call full circle!
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