My friends said I didn’t have the balls to write about penile enlargement.

Despite the Sprite ads that say “Image is nothing, thirst is everything,” I found it unsettling that my friends would soon be calling me the “Ball-less Wonder.”

So I accepted the challenge to inform the community of the wonders of penile enlargement, and found the task more work than I originally expected.

A quick search on the Web was of little use, as every Web site that popped up made some oblique reference to Swedish penis enlargers.

As a respected journalist with high standards, I knew I needed something more concrete than a Web site selling hand-operated vacuum pumps for $19.95.

Besides, “that’s not my bag, baby!”

So I made a trip to the library and discovered that the Sept. 1993 issue of Penthouse had a story pertaining to the Holy Grail of male ego enhancement.

Before you dismiss their credibility, I’ll have you know they are a highly respected source in fields other than porn — namely, alien autopsies.

But when I went to retrieve the aforementioned issue of Penthouse, I was politely informed that they did not carry such smut. Instead, they only subscribed to such gentlemanly journals as Playboy.

Iowa may be the Bible Belt, but I had a hard time imagining that there was no slum of decadence in the state, especially considering our proximity to Nebraska.

Yet my search was fruitless and I soon realized that if there was any place that would have smut, it was back home in Illinois.

Spring break found me not only wrenching on my broken motorcycle but also calling every porn shop in search of the September 1993 issue of Penthouse.

Lo and behold, my local smutshack said they had a copy.

If you’ve never been in a porn shop, it is an experience I highly recommend, much like eating Japanese food or taking in an opera.

Although, I must admit I felt very out of place. Everywhere I looked were balding middle-aged men, and I had to be the only person not wearing a rubber trenchcoat.

Despite these obstacles, I persevered and walked out of the place carrying the treasured issue of Penthouse.

Before I get off the subject and describe my fascination at looking at my newly acquired porn, I must say I found the articles highly informative.

Not only did I get to read an outdated article on Rush Limbaugh, but there was a shocking expose on penguin farming.

Though you may not know this, men everywhere have constantly searched for the ultimate solution to their fragile egos.

The Italians make Ducati motorcycles, while the Germans build Porsche roadsters.

In America, we buy both Ducatis and Porsches.

But you must realize red sports cars are only the tip of the iceberg: Enlarged penises are what really matters.

According to the article, the surgery was pioneered by a Chinese doctor named Dr. Long Daochou.

He apparently developed the technique for a small farm child who had half his wanker bitten off by a pig, and since the initial operation he has worked on more than 600 patients.

From there, two South African doctors at Milpark Hospital followed in Dr. Long’s footsteps and decided to try the surgery on desperate clients.

After a bit of trial and error they perfected the surgery, and guarantee an extra fifty percent increase in length. The price of admission: four grand.

Though there are some things I have never been able to understand (like women and Rubik’s Cubes), I personally can’t see anything wrong with this new surgery.

After all, women have been able to alter their bodies for years and this operation promises benefits for both sexes.

The doctors are confident the operation will help your confidence, but realize it will not cure your problems if you have some psychological hang-up.

While there are risks associated with unnecessary cosmetic surgery, namely elephants and monkeys with four asses, the only downside I can see is having to cancel the payments on your Ducati to rush off to South Africa.

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Aaron Woell is a junior in political science from Bolingbrook, Ill. This has been a public service announcement.