“What about a homosexual man and his heterosexual sister?”
“The heterosexual sister will feel ashamed to be naked in front of her homosexual brother.”
“But the homosexual brother will not be aroused by the nakedness of his sister.”
“Presumably not.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The heterosexual sister may herself become aroused by exhibiting her naked body to a man — whether or not he is aroused — and since in this case the man is her brother, the arousal is incestuous and taboo.”
“That makes sense.”
The anthropologist bowed and grunted, a sign of respect.
The headman bowed and grunted reciprocally.
“What about two brothers — can they see each other naked?”
“Yes.”
“And two sisters can see each other naked, too?”
“Of course. Same-sex siblings often see each other naked. They frequently shower in each other’s presence and try clothes on in each other’s presence, etc.”
“What if a homosexual man is in the presence of his heterosexual brother who is naked? Wouldn’t it be possible for the homosexual man to become aroused by the naked body of his brother?”
The headman stared far into the distance without answering. He gazed out toward the great mountains where the sacred ancestral burial places were.
The anthropologist jotted something down in his notebook and continued his questioning.
“And what about a naked homosexual woman and her homosexual sister who is naked, or two naked homosexual brothers? Wouldn’t the opportunities for incestuous arousal be exponentially increased in these instances? And yet there is no taboo against two sisters being naked together whatever their sexual orientations are and there’s no taboo against two naked brothers in each other’s presence no matter what their sexual orientations are. Can you explain this to me?”
The headman beckoned to several of his underlings and whispered something to them.
He said: “Take the anthropologist into the woods and kill him. If anyone from the village wants to eat his flesh, let them. I’m not into it, but I have no problem with anyone who is. Just get him out of my sight and into the woods and slaughter him as you would a wild pig or a tapir. He’s really beginning to annoy me! Go! Take him!”
“Yes.” The young acolytes nodded, bowing and grunting.
Off they went, escorting the scribbling anthropologist into the jungle.
“OK, who’s next?” asked the tribal headman.
His administrative assistant ran an index finger down a clipboard. “Your three o’clock is Ralph Korngold — he’s vice-president in charge of sales and marketing for Genitotech, a specialized biotechnology company located in Sparta, New Jersey.”
“Where’s New Jersey?”
The administrative assistant pointed beyond the great mountains where the sacred ancestral burial places were.
“Show him in,” said the headman, straightening the cartridge bandoliers that crisscrossed his bare chest.
The Genitotech VP, sweating in a blue double-breasted suit, entered the pavilion, bowed and grunted.
“Korngold, what can I do for you?” asked the headman.
“Chief, I don’t know how familiar you are with the Genitotech Company and its flagship product, Phallotropin …”
“Phallotropin — if I’m not mistaken — is a patented form of synthetic penile growth hormone (PGH). The drug was originally developed as an otological drop to facilitate ear wax removal. Then, a number of men who inadvertently ingested the solution orally began to notice significant penile growth. In subsequent FDA trials, synthetic PGH was credited with adding up to six inches of penile length to men who produced insufficient quantities of the hormone on their own. Phallotropin, along with Upjohn’s Rogaine and Johnson and Johnson’s Retin-A, is a golden product of pharmaceutical serendipity, a drug that was originally developed for one very specific usage and which later manifested a quite unexpected and much more lucrative indication. Researchers at Genitotech have ‘fine-tuned’ the drug to work gradually so there’s no sudden bulge, an important benefit emphasized in Genitotech’s new television commercials (“People at the office noticed that I was looking younger, more virile — but they couldn’t quite put their finger on exactly what it was”). I also know that the writer Mark Leyner has supposedly signed a multimillion-dollar contract to be the spokesperson for Phallotropin.”
“That’s amazing! How is it that you’re so well versed in the developmental history of Phallotropin?”
“Look, just because we’re an extremely isolated, hallucinogen-snorting tribe of headhunters doesn’t mean that we don’t read the trade journals … Urology Today, Annals of Endocrinology, etc. Granted, we get them pretty late — the November issue of Urology Today, for instance, didn’t get here until May — but we read them. But anyway, Korngold, why’d you come all the way down here to talk to me about Phallotropin? At the risk of sounding chauvinistic, our men are more than adequately endowed.”
“Chief, I don’t know how closely you follow American pop culture.…”
The headman shrugged. “I know Sting, ’cause he’s down here a lot. But otherwise, by the time we get People or Entertainment Weekly, whoever they’re talking about is usually dead and buried.”
“Well, let me fill you in. Leyner was originally going to be the Phallotropin Man. He was perfect — a huge reputation for his books and hyper-macho image, especially with our targeted consumer sector, the adolescent male. He’d even experimented with some amateur genital enhancement as a youngster. But the guy’s run into some major problems lately.”
“The Lincoln’s morning breath thing … with the punitive confiscation?”
“That and an ugly divorce and defections that have decimated almost the entirety of his upper-echelon staff, and there are rumors of bizarre behavior — episodes of extreme delusional megalomania alternating with bouts of hysterical paranoia and deep depression, alcohol and Percodan abuse, etc. etc. And we just couldn’t take the risk with a product like this — Genitotech expects to sell over $650 million of Phallotropin in its first year on the market.”
“Mamma mia!” exclaimed the headman.
“The long and the short of it, Chief, is that we’ve dropped Leyner and we’d like you to be the Phallotropin Man.”
The headman cupped a hand over his mouth and cogitated for a long while.
“What about side effects …?” he asked finally. “I don’t want to bring ignominy upon my tribe by endorsing a product that’s unsafe.”
“Not to worry, Chief. So far as we’ve been able to determine, Phallotropin’s only side effects are hirsutism, priapism, and Holmes-Berle disease — a rare form of dementia caused by burrowing microworms that live in the brain.”
“And I’d get the same seven-figure deal that Leyner got?”
“Same cash deal, incredible media exposure for you and your tribe, and enough free Phallotropin to make you guys the preeminent studs of the Amazon. What do you say?”
“Korngold, I’m going to go snort some ebene, stagger around wild-eyed for a while with green mucus streaming from my nostrils, leave my body, descend to the subterranean world, evaluate your proposal with my dead ancestors, and then get back to you.”
“What sort of time frame are we talking about here?” Korngold asked, checking his appointment book.
“We’re talking a day or two, three tops.”
The headman stood, bowed, and grunted.
Korngold did likewise. “Chief, I’m looking forward to your decision and hopefully to a long and prosperous partnership with the Genitotech Company.”