BREAKING NEWS! Magic City Wankers Are Weenies!

Miami's wankers may be smallish but no other city has cojones like this one, baby. Oh, and we grow bananas, too.

Rubber retailer Condomania really loves penises, obviously, so they amassed an astonishing amount of data after surveying 27,000 requests for condoms from their tailor-made TheyFit line of prophylactics, which come in a whopping 76 sizes! According to the data, based on measurements of girth as well as length, penises vary from three inches to over ten inches.

Miami ranked 12 in a list of 20 cities topped by New Orleans and fizzling out with Dallas/Fort Worth. This really depresses me, because a dear friend of mine who is single lives in that Texas city and I imagine she would enjoy the thrusting of a European cucumber over that of a baby carrot.

I am not concerned for myself as El Hombre is from a city that ranked pretty high, so I can personally vouch for the accuracy of this study.

Interestingly, the map for top 15 cities reveals a notable absence of sexual activity involving condoms in the Midwest. My guess is that this part of the country doesn't have sex unless it's for procreational purposes with multiple wives.

Also, according to the study, penises are bigger in blue states. Will this affect policy in Obama's new health care reform? Because you know, if there's one damn thing that should be dirt cheap in this country, it's freakin' birth control! All those people screwing around without condoms and having babies is what's wrong with this great nation of ours!

Out of the 50 states, Florida ranks number 24, which is surprising, because being peninsular, we are truly the nation's dicktip. If you look closely, Cuba is like a big wad of sperm floating around in the Caribbean Sea, which makes sense when you consider how the US acts like "I'm not going to come in your mouth" when it comes to dealing with that island.

So if the biggest penises are in New Orleans at over ten inches, this means (scientifically, of course), that Miami's dicks are probably just about five inches. But what Condomania doesn't know is that if you add a Maserati, a dinner at Prime 112, a fake Rolex and a cocky attitude, an erection grows about an extra two inches.

Kudos to Condomania for making tailor made condoms for the safety and pleasure of men who put their junk in body cavities. This brings whole new meaning to cut me some slack -- they should tie this in with the bespoke suit industry!

Anyway, I am really glad Condomania published this study, because now women all over the country can decide where they want to relocate for career purposes. And college-age girls can choose New Orleans for their next spring break destination. I bet the Greater Miami Visitors and Convention Bureau, the Beacon Council of Miami and local chambers of commerce are hustling right now to prove the Magic City is an ok place to live and play in spite of its weenie wankers.

Also, I am so relieved for my fellow sisters enduring schlong strikes and penis embargos. Before I met El Hombre, I could barely sleep at night, tossing and turning, wondering about where to find the biggest penis in a city full of dicks. Forget Miami -- I was planning on doing a whole social media project, driving around the country in a sponsored automobile, sleeping with 27,000 different men and tweeting about their penis sizes and facebooking about how they act like dicks! Oh wait, no ... that wasn't for me ... that was a reality show idea for the Kardashian sisters.

And this gets me thinking: we all know one size does not fit all, so somebody needs to figure out a way to measure vaginal cavities. This way, 4" number two pencil will fit inside a skinny bitch and papi chulo with the hanging ham could ride his big chonga with comfort and ease. Condomania, you should start your own dating website with all that data!

I Don't Give Blow Jobs For Free

Young Girl Writing at Her Desk by Henriette Browne

Yesterday, I spoke to undergrad students at a local college. A wonderfully talented new friend of mine, who works full time in PR and teaches on the side, asked me to stop by her class so students could test pitches on me. I very much enjoyed their fresh enthusiasm -- questions from young adults waiting for careers to bloom. I also loved telling them how I got to this point in my career by way of this blog. But in some ways, I felt like a newbie myself, as I never in a million years dreamed that I would be professing anything again on the subject of writing and communications since I left academia years ago.

Last night's experience has inspired me to sit down and pour my heart out about something that has been bugging me for a long time. It is this: I would like every writer, every communicator who is worth their weight in gold, to boycott their jobs and stop wordsmithing for a day. I am not talking about those writers with full-time paychecks. No. You know who you are. The other writers, the mistresses of the midnight oil. The little girl sitting at the desk looking over her shoulder at an uncaged bird. What would the world be like if sluts like us who are paid to write stopped writing? What does silence sound like?

You see, I am extremely frustrated by the fact that I, as well as many writers like myself, are expected to pen beautiful, well-researched and compelling prose for less than a hooker makes giving blow jobs on Biscayne Boulevard. The gift of gab, the knack of storytelling, the rhetorical turn needed to make people get off their asses and do things -- all this is in fact a talent and a practice, people -- it's a craft that should be upheld and dignified by all.

Has the age of blogging made it harder for experienced storytellers to make a living? Ironically, I think it has. I think that any asshole who can put a noun together with a verb fancies him or herself a Hemingway without any of the brain bleeding it takes for years to write great stuff without even thinking twice about it. Great writing is second nature. Great writing is a flash in the synapse before you even put your grubby fingers on the keyboard. Great writing is something that you breathe, sleep and eat. Great writing is a story you want to tell all the time, because you are the soul making that story come alive. Twenty four seven, three sixty five. You are a writer through and through.

Blogging does not make you a good writer; writing does. I have said this a million times and I will never tire of saying it until my last breath: a blog is simply an empty vessel for content and if you don't put in the time to perfect that craft, you aint a writer.

I have recently resigned from a column that I was writing for a major local newspaper -- not because I hated my beat or had a bad working relationship with my editors -- but because I could simply not justify the amount of time and work involved in producing great content for the meager financial compensation. For months, the newspaper company got great content for next to nothing. Yeah, I know, I accepted it. And yeah the economy is what is, bla bla bla ... but at the end of the day, I have to eat, people. I also have to fall asleep with a little dignity, too.

And it does break my heart, because I really love the publication and respect the people I worked with, but seriously, these days, devoted wordsmiths are probably better off monetizing their own blogs or finding other ways of making a living than depending on the byline of a newspaper.

So what if newspapers are dying? Shit still needs to written, right? Who the fuck is writing it, then? Just because writing is online doesn't make it any less valuable of a commodity!

And I am also sick and tired of nickel-and-dime negotiations with potential writing clients. Go write that fucking copy yourself. I'd rather flip burgers and I'll make more. And you, those other writers who are whoring themselves out for nothing, you make the rest of us look bad because you are giving that blow job practically for free when you know it's worth more than your pimp's fake Rolex.

I'm not sure what the answer is, folks. But I do know this -- it's a good thing I'm no longer a writing instructor -- you know, the teacher who actually teaches students who want to make a living at writing. I'd tell students to go enroll in law school, get an MBA or if they have vaginas, go the way of the MRS degree and push out a couple of puppies if that's what makes your life meaningful. For me, it has been writing and save for my beloved and the family and friends in my life, it's all I got.

And for those would be die-hard students, the ones following in the cavalry, well, welcome to our hell.

Planet Manola: Heartfelt Thanks and Shameless Plugs

Random news, commentary and photographs. Updated at least once every menstrual cycle, if not more frequently.

THANK YOU SUN SENTINEL AND READERS

Thanks to all who voted for me for the Best of Blogs Awards sponsored by the Sun Sentinel. Sex and the Beach won Best Humor Blog and I'm very grateful. Here's to more years of funny stuff, no matter where life may take me. My readers, know that YOU are my inspiration and that I would not be where I am today without this blog and the blogging/social media community that I've come to know and love.

AND SPEAKING OF FUNNY ...

It wouldn't be me without giving credit to some other wise ass wordsmiths out there who are relatively new kids on the block. The guy who was in second place in the Humor category is a Twitter buddy of mine who's based in Broward. Though soft spoken and quiet in person, he's funny as hell online, but his blog isn't for the faint of heart. This guy doesn't mince his words. Check him out at Yeah, I Said It.

Another Broward blogger who has tickled my funny bone -- yet who was not nominated -- is Jenny from Working On A Ramp. She's rivaling Ellen DeGeneres on the blonde gringa dance moves and she has blog chutzpah, which I admire!

AND SPEAKING OF CHUTZPAH ...

Two friends of mine have got a surplus of it and they're starting a new blog and talk show called Unaugmented Reality -- unaugmented as in "yes, they're real." In their own words:

Now you might be asking…what’s with “The UnAugmented Reality”…your point would be ladies? Our point is this…beautifully aged (you know like cheese or wine) women without augmentation, like new boobs, new lips, tucked tummies/buns, ZERO VaJayJay rejuv are here to tell it like it is. We’re gonna bring it...all the bitter, the sweet, the ugly…but mostly the funny.

Both gals hail from South Florida and are using pseudonyms; however, I expect the same candor online as I've enjoyed from them in real life. Join Paprika Fancy, Starr Buxxom and yours truly tomorrow night at 10 PM for the premier. We'll be discussing the subject of intimacy. This should be a riot -- or cause one.

MORE LINKS

Carlos Miller, who won Best Overall Blog, put together an excellent recap of the award ceremony over at Miami Beach 411, which won best News blog. (Warning: really hot photo of a married couple kissing in front of a fire!)

My thoughts on the awards process over at Miami New Times.

Photo credit: Carlos Miller