Mark: Hiya friends. Now just be honest about it. Did you ever consider the possiblity that your penis, and in the case of many dignified ladies, that the size of the titties themselves might provide elements of sub-conscious tension? Weird, twisted anxieties that could force a human being to have to become a politician! A policeman! A jesuit monk
Mark: A rock and roll guitar player! A wino! You name it. Or in the case of the ladies, the ones that can't afford a silicone BEEF-UP, may become writers of hot books
Howard: "Manuel, the gardener, placed his burning phallus in her quivering quim."
Mark: Yes, or they become Carmelite nuns!
Howard: "Gonzo, the lead guitar player, placed his mutated member in her slithering slit." Ha ha ha!
Mark: Ooh, or racehorse jockeys. There is no reason why you, or your loved one should suffer. Things are bad enough, without the size of your organ adding even more misery to the TROUBLES OF THE WORLD!
Howard: Right on, right on!
Mark: Now, if your a lady and you've got munchkin tits, you can console yourself with this age-old line from primary school:
Mark & Howard: ANYTHING OVER A MOUTHFUL IS WASTED! YES!
Mark: And isn't it the truth? And if you're a guy, and one night you're at a party and you're trying to be cool, I mean, you aren't even wearing any underwear, you're being so cool, and somebody hits on you one night, and he looks you up and down and he says, uh . . .
Howard: Eight inches or less?
Mark: Well let me tell you, brothers, that's the time when you got to turn around and look that sonofabitch right between the eyes, and you got to tell him these words: