You’re in a bit of a pinch, I won’t lie to you. Since the beginning of time (1971), the porn industry has been ruled by schlongs the size of Carmelo Anthony’s forearm and grapefruit-sized testicles that could be used as speed bags by a young Leon Spinks. But don’t despair, small-cocked-man: there’s always room for one more freak at the circus. If you’re willing to consign yourself to years of hard work and unrelenting dedication, there could be a slot for you, too. Let’s take a look.

Ed Powers. The most famous baby-dicked pornstar of all time, Powers made a name for himself in the late 1980’s as a producer of a series of gonzo-based vignettes, Bus Stop Tales, which featured him as a roving cameraman bent on seducing sweet young things in West LA. He took the charade one step further when he created the now-famous Dirty Debutantes series, where he made a habit of filming rising stars’ first scenes. By plying the actresses with double-portions of his own brand of avuncular schmaltz, the small-balled Jew with a ponytail soon nailed over a thousand beautiful 18-year-olds, reaping untold millions in the process.

The lesson here? If Ed, who no one in the entire universe really wants to watch fuck, can make it in porn, well, so can you - probably. The truth is, Ed’s got a certain magic about him, which maybe you don’t. Don’t start getting all cocky and think you’re Ed Powers, okay? Because that’ll ruin it.

You spend hours of each day in your darkened, carpeted, suburban basement, hovering in front of a grimy PC with a handful of lemon-scented Jergen’s in one palm and a wadded lump of damp Kleenex in the other. Your neck’s tense and your eyes don’t blink - you’re a porn addict, hard-core, and there’s no changing you. But don’t despair, cousin; things have been worse! Here’s what’s AWESOME about your porn-drenched lifestyle:

- Thanks to recent developments in modern technology, your addiction costs a lot less than it did ten years ago, and is far easier to hide. Guys like you used to shell out $47.99 in “Sex Shoppes” for one measly, oversized, mammoth VHS copy of “Cheatin’ Hearts.” (Where do you put that so your wife doesn’t find it? In a drum of motor oil?) But now, unless you’re a total idiot, or hate having money, your entire collection’s probably built around mpegs and websites. The biggest problem you’ve got now is making sure your keyboard’s free of wayward shots of stringy, aged, yellowing jism. But that’s your deal and I can’t help you with that.