Clone-A-Willy Fail

When I was first approached to review the Empire Labs “Clone-A-Willy” kit, I thought it sounded like a funny thing to do. Not because I had the chance to make a glow-in-the-dark replica of my very own penis, but mostly for the reason I’m the least likely candidate to ever consider doing such a thing. Like if “Plain Jane” came in an economy “James” model, that would be me to the unassuming T. Then again, I’m sure some said the very same thing about Jeffrey Dahmer prior to his hell breaking loose, so I shall digress more to the point of the matter: On my best day I measure out somewhere between a roll of dimes and a stack of quarters. As such, my penis is certainly nothing to write home about—well, not that I’d write home about the mediocre stature of my manhood in the first place, but that’s just what happens when you reach for the closest idiom at hand. And what loosely rhymes with idiom? Idiot. Pleased to meet you.

dildo mold

Though I am an artist of sorts I am definitely not an artisan and I have never excelled in the realm of handicrafts. Even as a kid I was all thumbs with model car kits and eventually eschewed them altogether. So why break tradition now, especially when the difference between making a shitty replica of Dick Trickle’s racecar is nowhere near as high-stakes as a lifelong dick trickle from a dildo mold gone wrong? Boredom, pure and simple, but seeing as this is supposed to be a simple product review and not a deconstruction of my own private psychoses, I might as well start with the overall packaging before getting to the rubber meat of the matter.

From the marketing outset the Clone-A-Willy kit appears very user-friendly with the appearance of nothing but fun to be had in the whole cock-sculpting process. There’s happy-go-lucky cartoon imagery, the requisite “safe,” “fun” and “easy” words, and a bold democratic emphasis on catering to “ANY” penis. But what really caught my eye was the “Just Add Water” bullet point. This was going to be just like making sea monkeys!

However, only after popping the seal and spilling out the contents did I finally see the real directions involved. Particularly the one stating that this is a project best handled by two people, or to at least have a “penis pump” or “penis ring” on hand. Well, although I am married, I don’t have the luxury of being with my wife at present, and I don’t think this is one of those projects where you can drive down to Home Depot and pay a couple dudes to help you out (maybe other parts of town, sure, but a pirate’s life is not for me!). And as for the aforementioned penile accessory items, who the hell just happens to have these things on hand? I certainly don’t … but now I’m thinking maybe I should? Anyway, where there is a stupid will there is always a dumb way. So I made the decision to go it alone and play MacGyver. I didn’t have a vacuum on hand to simulate a penis pump, but I figured some rubber bands would do the constricting trick just fine.

But all of the above was nothing compared to the most important direction: “You have just two minutes to mix the molding gel and insert your penis.” Two minutes?! The last thing I needed was anything vaguely resembling performance anxiety and this just slipped a guillotine of self-doubt into place. I mean, I don’t have any serious male potency issues—it happens to every guy—but to be expected to hit a certain water temperature, flawlessly execute the mixing instructions, and maintain a fully erect penis the entire time? Wow. I’m not a big Food Network fan, but this sounds like a reality chef challenge that I would definitely tune in to see.

Remember how I said I sucked at craft projects? Well, I’m even worse in the kitchen, so the outcome of my dildo was really turning into a crapshoot. I would either pop out: A) A perfect replica of my erect penis; B) A sorry excuse for what could be mistaken as a spent candle; or C) An aneurysm while trying to race the clock with a mixing bowl in one hand and a boner in the other. Optimistically speaking though, in the event of checking out big-time with “C”, I could already envision them reading off my Darwin Award for “The Dumbass Who Died While Trying To Replicate His Unremarkable Penis.” Now THAT would be something worth dying for.

Finally, I could procrastinate no more. The moment of truth was at hand. It was dildo do or die time.

Mentally prepping myself the best I could, I laid out all the ingredients and supplies with strategic care. I then dropped my drawers, filled my head with sexy thoughts, and poured a glass with hot water. The precise temperature required is 98-degrees, so I figured by the time it cooled down to that number I’d be good and hard to go for at least two minutes.

Well, I eventually mustered up, but then proceeded to watch my phallus vacillate between a soft rock and a hard place as I waited for the water to hit 98-degrees. As soon as that happened, I grabbed a rubber band and, fuck me, tripled it up. I knew something might be wrong when the base of the wiener cinched up like a funny balloon animal, but by then it was too late to abort the mission because I’d simultaneously poured the water into the gel powder.

With one eye on the timer and the other on the bowl, I began stirring the mixture into what appeared to be lumpy pancake batter—and that’s when I noticed my penis had turned bright red in color with bulging, dark purple veins spidering up the shaft. All fears of performance anxiety immediately flew out the window, as I was now in full-blown panic mode.

Without missing a stirring beat, I somehow managed to rip the rubber band off what was clearly on the verge of becoming a blood sausage. However, by the time I’d smoothed out most of the lumps and poured the goop into the molding tube, not only were my two minutes up but my traumatized member was down. Well, I’d come this far, so with nothing else to lose I frantically mashed my flaccid shaft into the hardening goop. I thought maybe—just maybe—if I managed to find a happy, sexy place I could power through the thickening process … but no such luck. When I pulled out of the mold, all that remained was a weird indent where the head of my penis had mushed out and come up short. Way short.

Despite the total failure, I followed through on the rest of the directions to rubberized completion. The final product resembled, at best, one of those crappy little fossil replicas you might have made in grade school out of plaster, but I’m thinking if I paint it brown, the creepy little puck could possibly pass for one of those prankish dime-store piles of poo (an item of infinite more use in my life than a dildo would have ever been).

Needless to say, the experience did not leave me feeling like a porn star, just an “immortalized” middle-age fuck-up. That said, I’m sure in other able hands the Clone-A-Willy kit could be a fun thing to do if you were in the silly mood, but I heartily recommend not going it alone—unless, of course, you happen to excel at masturbatory multitasking. All psychological detriment aside, you really need a partner in crime to handle all the technical aspects of the mold so you can attend to priority number one: your penis.

L’Agent Goodies…