The Danger Of Channel Hopping

Now I’m not talking about the dangerous crossing of the English Channel in a tin bath. Nor the dangerous attempt to gain entry illegally into England by celotaping yourself to the underneath of a lorries trailer. No I’m talking about sitting on your sofa at home and with remote in hand flicking through the channels.

I don’t have satellite tv or cable. I only have freeview which is plenty for me and Mrs Grump. We’re not really into watching much tv. Sometimes we like to sit down and watch a good box set. We recently finished the 3rd series of Dr Quinn Medicine woman. Quite frankly, I don;t think there is any other tv show that can compare to the insatiable writing and tension of the drama and dilema that Dr Quinn Medicine woman goes through. What a woman. Oh apart from Lovejoy. Antiques can be so thrilling!


It’s no good sitting down to watch tv at a quarter to or a quarter past the hour. Firstly it’s usually slap bang in the middle of all the advert breaks and secondly you are not really going to be able to get into a show because you’ve missed a chunk of it already. This is usually when I just sit there channel hopping for the next few minutes until the time comes for the next programmes to start.

However, to my horror the other day I found this to be a disturbing experience.

It’s not what I want to happen. It’s a bloke thing to just flick through the channels to kill a bit of time. We’re looking for something to catch our attention namely hot women or violence. If you get ten minutes of a show with both of these things you’ve hit the jackpot. But I wasn’t fortunate to see that as I was flicking. We give each channel about 5 seconds to catch our attention. To grab us so that we stay watching. Man has an amazing ability to spot an advert in a second and hit that programme up button on the remote. That’s the power of evolution I guess.

I stumbled upon a programme at a crucial point which managed to grab my attention for longer than 5 seconds. There was a man who was sat there saying he had a sensitive problem down below. Well that’s got me intrigued straight away. He explained he had lost a of of weight (commendable I thought) thanks to a gastric band (ah, the lazy way of doing it) and as a result he didn’t have much of a penis left. I had stumbled upon a programme in the UK called Embarrassing Bodies.

embarrasing bodies

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what this show is about. The man then dropped his kegs and showed several million people that he was suffering from something called Buried Penis which is common in men who have been morbidly obese and then successfully lose weight. They sent him to a specialist who deals with buried penis’ all the time apparently. He explained what they do.

Then the camera cuts to the operation. Is the camera just showing the surgeons faces whilst working on the man’s bits? No. The camera is right in there whilst they are going at it with a scalpel.

Mrs Grump was upstairs when she heard the shout from downstairs. “Oh No! No need! That’s enough!” I shouted as I raised the remote and flicked the channel to a shopping channel that was selling an array of “practical” must haves for cooking that could not only save time in the kitchen, they could also repair the cracks of your marriage and ensure your children never take drugs.

There are certain things a man shouldn’t see. A scalpel going anywhere near “the equipment” is one of them. I was caught off guard. My fault I guess.

But obviously I was drawn in by this show. This show called Embarrassing Bodies. A show in which many people who are too embarrassed to go to the doctor can get help. Let’s just run that one by you again. They are too embarrassed to go to the doctor but they will happily step into a mock up surgery/studio with a doctor presenter, cameraman and sound man at least and have their bits seen by the several million morbidly curious observers sat in their front rooms pointing and in unison going “uuurgh,” at the tv. It’s a modern day curiosity that used to lead people into the freak show tents at the circus all those years ago. Although you didn’t really get people going into a tent to see the incredible buried penis.

Don’t even get me started on the male doctor who presents it, Christian.


I’ve nothing personal against him. He is after all helping people. But his face is very taught. He looks like he’s permanently in a wind tunnel. Manikin like. Then there’s that half smile he does. Has he had a stroke? Or is he trying not to laugh at an embarrassing body with several under arm skin tags?

I’m not going to poke fun at the people taking part. It’s obviously very difficult to endure what they do but I don’t understand how they can do it. Go on tv and get it all out for everyone to see. The things that they’re embarrassed about may not even usually be on display. Out of view of others. People wouldn’t know any different. Fortunately, people don’t really examine what’s going on in each other’s underpants.

I trust the buried penis guy was very happy with the operation. I didn’t return to that channel to find out. Good luck to him.

But I wonder if having been on tv about it you are removing the barriers of social etiquette amongst strangers. You are after all revealing the most intimate parts of your body, their faults and problems and not only will your work colleagues, friends and family all know the size of your cock, so too will the milkman and other people you might deal with on a day to day basis. How can you return to privacy about that afterwards? By being on tv and revealing yourself that way, surely you are opening yourself up to conversations about it.

That guy could walk into his local pub, stand at the bar and the Landlord who he has known for years serves him with his normal pint of ale and then just casually starts the conversation. “The wife and I saw you on telly the other night John. Yeah we taped it. So how’s your cock now then? Get it up ok?” Then a stranger walks past but because John has been on tv he’s somewhat of a local celebrity. They stop him, “Excuse me, are you that buried penis guy on the telly? Can I have your autograph? A quick picture so I can show my friends?” Takes the picture and within seconds it’s on facebook under the status update, “Hanging out with buried penis bloke” and it already has it’s first like. Then it goes onto twitter with #BuriedPenis and once again his face is seen by people globally with being associated with a penis affliction. The stranger then can ask how things are going on downstairs.

But John can’t exactly turn around and tell people to f*** off and mind their own business because it’s a private and personal matter. People don’t generally discuss their bits with strangers. But John went on tv and showed the whole country his bits. Any privacy went out of the window at that point and it would be somewhat hypocritical to then take a high moral privacy stance in self defence of the questions he may be too embarrassed to want to answer.

I’m sure that never happened, but it could!


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