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The Penis Transplant Story

I used to have a professor in college who could only be best described as irreverent. He was a professor of a General Education subject when I was a freshman; and I had the good fortune to get him again when I was already taking up major subjects.

This feller was not the sort of guy who would allow himself to be ignored – not for one moment! My very first encounter with him has been filed for the longest time in a folder inside my brain with the label “Exceptionally Weird, But Hilarious.”

“Class,” he melodramatically told us during our first meeting with him, “you have to learn to express yourselves!!! So… When I call your name, I want you to slam your palm down on your desk as hard as you can and then shout out your name!!!” Was this guy for real?

And so my classmates took turns slamming their desks to introduce themselves to him… If any of my classmates did not slam hard enough or spoke too softly, this professor made that classmate repeat the process until he was satisfied.

One male classmate was just as showbiz as the professor. When his name was called, he got up, picked up his chair with both hands and slammed it hard on the floor! The noise was deafening, but there was complete silence afterwards. We all felt that this classmate had overstepped the limit. Everyone stared nervously at the professor, whose eyes were nanlilisik

After what seemed like an eternity, the professor very deliberately spoke, “Verrryyyy gooooodddd!!!”

There was this other time when we arrived inside the classroom to find the very same professor dressed in a bright orange Ananda Marga robe and squatting on the desk Buddha-style with a stick of incense burning between his fingers. Honestly, I did not quite know what to make of the scene; but my more sophisticated Manila-based classmates ooohhh-ed and aaahhh-ed to ride along in mock adoration.

This professor also probably had a split personality because – on certain days – he thought of himself as Bembol Rocco. One day after a Rocco movie premier, we came to class to find him in Bembol-make-believe mode. So the lovely coeds among my classmates swooned all over him and pretended to ask for his autograph. He loved the attention!

Another day, in one of those rare moments when he thought it appropriate to conduct a right proper lecture – he was prim, proper and looking every bit like the college professor he very seldom could muster himself to be – a group of students passed noisily along the corridor outside. One of those – must have been one of his former students – shouted above the noise, “Hoooo bola!!!”

The professor sprinted to the door, stuck his head out and shouted to the insolent fool, “P#*3@%#-ina mo!!!” When turned his face back to the class, he had a wicked grin and we all laughed like crazy. The earlier serious professorial lecture was instantly gone!

I did not get this professor again for any of my subjects until I was, in fact, already majoring for my bachelor’s degree. His eccentricities during my freshman year were already gone; but the sense of humor had not. No class day would ever pass without something to laugh about; albeit, he was the first to admit that his preparations for our class left a lot to be desired.

Once, when an office clerk knocked to inform him that she would be conducting a teacher performance evaluation survey, he turned around to tell us, “Does she have to do this? I know what your evaluation will be like. Subject Preparation: 0. Sense of Humor: 5” We all laughed; and for being such a character alone, I think all of us gave him the highest marks.

That part about the sense of humor was, needless to say, quite incontestable. Despite all the things that he made me laugh about, I will always remember him for the penis transplant story – and simply because I heard it for the first time from him.

Before I even tell you the story, I hasten to clarify that there is no truth to it whatsoever. If you are reading about this for the first time, I will be the first to tell you that this is not original at all. This has been told time and again with different characters named. For my professor’s version, the main characters were former President Ferdinand Marcos and the great Filipino statesman Carlos P. Romulo.

According to my professor’s story, Carlos P. Romulo, having married an American woman at a time in his life when his loins were no longer as productive nor as rigid as he would have wanted them to be, went to see a penis transplant doctor to have the situation rectified. At the transplant doctor’s clinic, Romulo was shown a garapon with a penis in it which would have shamed a porno star.

Romulo was naturally excited, and asked the doctor how much he would have to part with to get that penis. “That thing will cost you 10,000 pesos!” the doctor told him.

“Deal!” Romulo immediately agreed to the procedure. In no time at all, or so my professor’s story went, Romulo was so happy with the results that he went around bragging to his contemporaries.

One of these was Ferdinand Marcos, who as fate would have it, was having his own organ problems. “Why don’t you visit my doctor?” Romulo advised Marcos. “He has given my sex life a new lease on life!”

Marcos was impressed, and visited Romulo’s doctor as advised. Like the latter, Marcos was shown this impressive penis in a garapon. However, when told that getting the penis would cost 10,000 pesos, Marcos – an Ilocano – was taken aback. I am sure you have all heard that rather unfair and tiresome stereotype that all Ilocanos are kuripot.

Unwilling to commit to the price, Marcos naturally asked if there was something cheaper. Scratching his head, the doctor said that there was, although it would not be of the same quality. He then showed Marcos a smaller penis in another garapon and told him that it would only cost 1,000 pesos.


A month later, Marcos ran into Romulo in some government affair. “Your doctor is of no use!” Marcos complained. “My thing is as lame as the one before the operation!” He did confide to Romulo that he thought it too much to pay 10,000 pesos for the big penis in the garapon that the doctor had first shown him.

“Teka,” Romulo asked him thoughtfully, “what did you have transplanted, then?”

“There was this smaller penis in another garapon, and the doctor only charged me 1,000 pesos!”

“Naku, compadre!” Romulo commiserated with Marcos. “I believe what you have now used to be mine!”

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