Will The Real America Please Stand (All The Way) Up?
By Ben Kassoy
I go through life leading with my penis. I wish that were a metaphor, but it’s not.
Literally: it’s unintentional, but I stand with my shoulders hunched forward and my back lazily reclined, which leaves my pelvis protruding. Set this in motion, and my crotch is like a cat’s whiskers, preceding my body and feeling for danger — or pleasure! — ahead.
If I were blindsided while walking, the car would first collide not with my legs but instead my groin, sending my genitals hurling through the intersection. My friends and coworkers compete to see who can imitate my stride, that of an apathetic molester, most accurately.
My situation is extreme but not unique, as an entire generation of American males has ignored our mothers’ pestering about good posture. As a result, we walk around with hunched backs, knuckles nearly scraping the ground like apes. When sitting, we slump in our chairs, slipping deeper and deeper into the floor and, soon, oblivion. For example, you, right now.
(Note: Females, in my estimation, aren’t nearly as affected by this posture pandemic. Maybe it was the ballet training as a child, or the constant fixation on maintaining a flat tummy. Either way, women are straight-up… well, straight up.)
Will the real America please stand—and sit—up? Like, all the way up.
This is a call to action, yes. But it’s also a note to self. Please, people in my life, hold me accountable. If not, I’ll prove a hypocrite — a hypocrite with the lethargic gait of an emo middle schooler.
We’ve all observed the long-term pitfalls of poor posture. Those three-foot-tall hunchbacked old men, chins practically resting atop their little bellies. Cute, yes. Enviable, no. Have we, though, considered the transformative short-term benefits of straightening out?
For one, you’re taller. Immediately. Tell genetics and gravity to suck it, grow an in and a half this very instant. And, unlike your adolescent growth spurt, this one won’t come amid acne, an Osgood-Schlatter diagnosis, or the overwhelming fear of an erection during your bar mitzvah. According to Malcolm Gladwell, due to global subconscious bias, taller people are likelier to succeed: fifty-eight percent of CEOs are over six feet tall. Now you’re taller — and a baller. Soon, maybe even a shot-caller.
When I stand normally — with the affect of a winded hipster — I’m shorter than both my sisters. If I resent this, can you imagine how they feel? With your newfound inches and swag, you’ll be spending more time with the ladies—and, if you’re luckier than I am, ones who aren’t your sister. No longer concerned about towering over your hunchbacked man, rock those heels, diva. And forget that lame pun in that lame song: “Her feet are killing her / I call it shoe-icide.” No matter: you both be killin’ ‘em.
The best part? You get all this for doing nothing. It’s the same concept as that preposterous Ab Belt or Hawaii Chair. Only, unlike the latter, sitting up won’t throw you into an uncontrollable seizure of nausea and humiliation (see video below). Sit at your desk. Or on the couch. Or the toilet. Even in your most passive moments, you’re actively improving. I’ll be taller, better, faster, stronger by the end of this sentence. You too?
Let’s stand up for ourselves — and our country. The world thinks we’re a generation not of men but of lazy, type-2 diabetic, vitamin-D-deprived slouchers, perpetually hunched over our computers or, otherwise, fast-food meals. Screw them. Stand up straight, gentlemen. Show some pride, gentlemen. Let’s make America’s proverbial penis as big as we tell everyone it is.
Then, we won’t have to walk with it sticking out. They’ll just know.