This is the largest penis on Wanksy so far. Not that size matters. The right ball is slightly larger than the left and they’re both far too circular to be convincing, also there is an absence of pubic hair. But you can see the artist was faced with the challenge of describing the phallus in one go for fear of ruining the overall effect by trampling on the fresh snow. A lot of effort went into this snow penis, but as my pal commented when he shared the pic: “All that effort and they miss the money shot”.
I started this blog in August 2010. The plan was to put photos of graffiti penises up and then to write short appraisals of the work. I thought the world would be full of graffiti cocks. A never-ending supply of crudely scrawled or spray painted penises. I figured people would soon catch on to the blog and start sending in photos, it’d go viral. I’d be on Graham Norton and ultimately be able to give up my proper job and become a media player.
I discovered that the world is not actually full of graffiti cocks. Furthermore, I also discovered that I wasn’t really that funny. I generated small levels of apathy about the blog among my friends. Wanksy withered on the vine.
Then, last Christmas, when I was out shopping at the last minute for presents. I saw this book:
In fairness to the authors, it’s way better than my blog, features better graffiti and is more more amusing. Bastards. Go and buy it here.
I have a book called Shit London: Snapshots of a city on the edge, by Patrick Dalton and is a collection of photos taken in the capital that show the city at its shittest. It is also an excellent blog, and you can find it here.
I was thumbing through its pages (some of which contain superb cock graffiti by the way (more of which is on the blog and most of which is better than the cock graffiti you can find on Wanksy in fact)) and stumbled across something I had seen before and blogged about here.
Anyway, here’s Patrick Dalton’s Wankfield alongside mine.
It was Blue Monday today. This is a day that PR people with the help of dubious scientific study have decided is the most depressing day of the year. And it hadn’t started particularly well for me.
For starters this morning I had to go to Brentford, that on its own would normally be enough of a reason to feel depressed, but compounding the feeling of doom was the fact that I faced what would almost certainly be a lengthy meeting. Additionally, I was running 20 minutes late, which would mean that I would arrive at the meeting and everyone would be waiting for me and so I wouldn’t be able to go for a pee for the next three hours.
So, having already been awake for well over three hours and having struggled across town standing on two packed commuter trains, I arrived at Brentford train station, late for my meeting and feeling the pain of life and bladder alike.
I tumbled out of the carriage and wandered off down the platform feeling sorry for myself, but then under my feet I saw it.
The Brentford blue is let down by some serious omissions. No pubes, no pisshole, no semen. The shaft is slightly wonky and the testicles misshapen and joined up. It’s by no means a well crafted cock. It’s ambitions leave much to be desired. But it is, at least, an honest cock without pretensions or airs and graces.
Service stations are a popular stomping grounds for the fan of the crafty cock jot. Add to that an amusing poster whose principal aim is to draw attention to the shortcomings and too quick comings of a gentleman’s old feller and you’ve got a cock-tale cocktail recipe for bog flavoured spotted dick.
It was so inevitable that this advert on the inside of a toilet door in the gents of Toddington Services on the north bound carriageway of the M1 was going to be tampered with by a graffitist that the marketers might as well have attached a little betting pen on a piece of string with a join the dot puzzle.
The artist was faced with an obvious problem, since the gents in the photo in the gents have hats to hide their offending articles. But this imposition has been batted aside with scant regard for anatomical correctness or indeed anatomical erectness. Adding further confusion to this already heavily mixed Freudian message is the fact that the penis is ejaculating yet still very clearly only a semi.
This is the second completely puerile street sign to make it onto the virtual pages of Wanksy. I stumbled across this photo while looking on an old phone for a photo of an old friend. I didn’t find one of my old friend, but I did find this. In a way, I think that sums up life quite nicely.
I won’t comment on the aesthetics, since it’s not technically a proper Wanksy. But I have posted the picture here nevertheless, since it made me smile and that made the trip to the loft to find the old cameraphone worthwhile.