Modern Things Romans Would Love #9: Drawing Dicks

You know how it is! Especially if you’re a bloke but, come on ladies, we know you did it too! Don’t think I don’t see you non-binary people! Oh, sure, it’s an elephant. Any dick is an elephant if you draw two eyes on it!

There’s a beach, there’s a stick, you’re a man in his thirties, meaning you have the mental maturity of a twelve-year-old, what do you do? DICK IN THE SAND!

There’s a toilet stall wall, you’re taking a shit, it’s a stubborn one, you’re bored, you’ve got a Sharpie in your pocket, what do you do? DICK ON THE STALL!

You’re a teenage boy sat beside your friend in class, it’s a serious one, the room in near silent reverence of the teacher, oh that teacher hates hijinks and piss-arsing around, but you’ve got a pen, your friend has their book open on the desk, it’s right in front of you, your biro is twitching with excitement and anticipation in your hand, what do you do? DICK ON THE BOOK!

You’re a Roman builder, you’ve just finished a section of Hadrian’s wall that you’re particularly proud of, you want to bless it with masculine fortitude, strength and longevity, what do you do? DICK ON THE WALL!

Romans fucking loved the D. Seriously, a dick is like a holy symbol to them. No, it’s not LIKE a holy symbol, a dick is a holy symbol to Romans. There’s dick everywhere across the empire. Go out to your local Roman ruins, I guarantee somewhere there’s a dick. If there isn’t, there was one and it has eroded. Dick, dick, dick, dick, floppy dick, hard dick, biggus dickus, littlus dickus – Romans dug dick.

Was it the immaturity of an overly masculinised culture creating, essentially, a cult to their own genitalia? Probably. Does it matter? No. Why doesn’t it matter? Because it’s funny. Because dicks are funny.

Romans had dick statues as part of their worship and rituals. Why not? It’s like a mushroom, an alien and a human all combined DNA to make a weird fleshy outcrop with the potency to help create life. Why not worship it!?

Solid bronze phallic amulet in the form of a pripus with hindquarters of a horse mounted by a figure of a woman, three bronze pendants are suspended from the base, Graeco-Roman. Credit: Wellcome Collection. Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)
This is a fascinus – an image of the divine dick. Supposed to ward off the evil eye, penis charms were given to kids to keep them safe. Credit: Wellcome Collection. Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)

It was a symbol of strength, protection, luck and fertility. They couldn’t have gone and banged the gong enough for schlong.

If a Roman was sailing off to a battle and saw a dick in the sand on the beach, they’d want to land there. If they saw a dick on the wall of their toilet stall they would want to shit there. They’d know this was a blessed shit, a manly shit. If a Roman student had a dick on their book they’d probably be getting straight As and, well, Roman builders did actually mark their work with dicks. They were etched above doorways to houses, placed on outside fort walls, etched in quarries. No walk along Hadrian’s wall is complete without hunting for some cock, it’s littered with them.

To a Roman the phallus was as potent as the sword. The two often were compared, the thrusting stab to the guts of a gladius, the thrusting stab to the cunt of a dick – what’s the difference? For an empire that spread, led and bred around what was, at the time, the known world to Europeans? It could be argued their dicks were the most effective weapons, creating more Romanised life than their swords or words ever could.

So the next time you have the urge to etch a nob on something, do it and justify it by saying you are honouring Roman culture and it is your duty to bless whatever you’re drawing a dick on with luck, power and longevity.

Had enough cock for one day? You could check out the previous entry, easily available abortions (content warning: its about abortion)

or move on to the next modern thing Romans would love, energy drinks!

Published by Karl Anthony Mercer

Like a dark-chocolate fountain at a weight loss party, Karl Anthony Mercer is an under-utilised river of bittersweetness. When not busy researching or writing about any and all non-fiction topics for 'We Lack Discipline' Karl can often be found walking, staring at wildlife or writing poetry.

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