The Penisaurus

by Tom Shafer

February 27, 2020

Okay, so a little disclaimer here, though in some ways it might be a little too late. Some might consider this a PG-13 entry because, well, the title alone. I apologize if you are or will be offended by these words (no images!), but remarkably, I was once a teenager so I am guilty of having done teenage things. Frankly, I am guilty of much worse offenses than the episode described here — which likely doesn’t make you feel any better. I guess you don’t have to read it — but it is a pretty good story. Enjoy!

So, I was reminded recently about an incident from my youth that started as a fun, innocent episode but resulted in the outing and bannification (a new word that I just created and like very much!) of a fine literary publication – to go along with a few uncomfortable days for yours truly.  I always find it amazing that moments like these from our lives can be catalogued comfortably in dark recesses of our brains, only to be fully unpacked and revealed to the light of day by a seemingly innocent question from an old friend and former high school classmate.

“Do you remember the Penisaurus?”

Until that very moment, I don’t think I had thought about the Penisaurus for at least a couple of decades.  Just mentioning the word jettisoned me back forty plus years to high school.  And many of the images are still crystal clear.

Like most kids, I loved drawing and creating with crayons, magic markers, and paints of all types.  Of course, my early works consisted of crude landscapes (mostly involving my house and yard, along with the occasional mountain range) and even cruder human likenesses (mostly advanced stick figures of family and friends). As I evolved as an “artist,” I started imitating masters like Charles Schulz (Peanuts), Friz Freleng (Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies), and Theodor Seuss Geisel (Dr. Seuss), and frequently worked their characters into my schoolwork when I could – and always as part of my signature.

When I reached junior high, my status as a raw amateur cartoonist was cemented when I created my very own characters, Pencilman and EraserHead, both inspired by my very passionate seventh grade English teacher Mr. Trimboli. Mr. T (the original and what he wanted us to call him) was a language drill sergeant of sorts (perhaps due to his own Army training), but always in a good way.  We played memorization games (prepositions and linking verbs) and learned sentence structure through a fun type of diagramming. To this day, I give much credit to Mr. Trimboli for my mastery of the language – and perhaps subconsciously for my becoming a teacher.

Anyway, Pencilman and EraserHead were the Batman and Robin of the literary world, fighting grammatical crime and poorly written words of all kinds.  The focus of their work centered on exposing misplaced modifiers in newspaper headlines (“Miners Refuse to Work after Death”) and misused (or not used) punctuation on signs (“Slow children at play” should be “Slow, children at play” – unless the kids are extraordinarily slow).  No examples exist of this “comic” strip, save my memory of the two main characters and Dang Mod, a Bruce Lee-like villain who appeared from time-to-time to frustrate our crime-fighting duo.  Of course, Dang Mod is short for dangling modifiers, whose examples (I just received a dozen farm fresh eggs from our local farmers, and one of them was laid just yesterday) can be quite hilarious.

In eighth grade, for the first time we utilized workbooks (Spanish) that we purchased from our school store.  I liked the idea of maintaining homework in this manner, but I quickly discovered something about it that I liked even more: flip-drawing animation.  Now, I was already a flip drawer with some of my own paperback books at home, but this was a bigger format and the paper was a heartier stock. 

For the uninitiated, flip drawing is really just a form of cartooning, where the artist makes an initial drawing (typically characters doing something interesting) on a sheet of paper, then creates movement on the next sheet by drawing the same scene with very subtle changes.  He or she then repeats this over and over again until the desired action is completed.  My Spanish workbook allowed skiers to make multiple jumps, including flips, until they crashed into trees – or buildings like the Eiffel Tower – or even celebrities.  Yes, some of them were completely juvenile (especially the crashes – and they always ended in crashes), but they were also creative and funny, at least to my friends, many of whom were engaged in the same activity with racecars (and crashes), track and field athletes (and crashes), and sharks (eating all kinds of stuff – and crashing!).

By the time I got to high school, flip drawing was considered passé, and though I was still doing it, I was keeping it to myself.  I was doodling some during class, but schoolwork and athletics were consuming most of my time, so my drawing was pushed to a backburner. 

That is, until I saw my first penis – a drawn penis, mind you.  One of my friends suddenly became consumed with drawing penises – a phenomenon I would strangely run into later during my teaching career.  He drew them on everything, including bathroom walls in my high school.  Of course, this was completely boorish juvenile behavior, but I have to admit that I always giggled when I turned a corner and saw a random penis permanently markered to a locker or wall.  I don’t remember if he was ever caught for his artistic indiscretions, but he definitely inspired me.  I don’t recall my first drawn penis, but I know it didn’t take long for the cartoonist in me to bring one fully to life.  And ultimately, when I put legs and a turtleneck on a particular drawing, the Penisaurus emerged and a new comic strip was born. 

I shared him in some safe circles to rave reviews.  As he and his exploits grew (pun intended!), so did his popularity.  His size (and shape!) would change as he experienced the world, and yes, he even encountered shrinkage.  Anger and arousal would engorge him nearly to bursting – but thankfully, this cartoonist never allowed his white-hot passion to get the best of him. 

Eventually, my little strip caught the attention of our school’s underground newspaper, and suddenly I was drawing for a much larger – and much more critical – audience.  And now, my Penisaurus was enrolled at Beavercreek High School and experiencing the same things the rest of us were experiencing, including interaction with faculty and administration. 

Do you sense danger here?  Well, I didn’t, and the Penisaurus enjoyed a nearly year and half long run as perhaps the most loved section of our paper.  Though I was signing each cartoon with the cryptic pseudonym Horace (the Roman poet who was also one of our earliest satirists, in case you wanted to know), most of the student body knew who “Horace” was. 

I don’t remember what brought an end to our fun (perhaps a scathing article about administration or jealousy revenge from our school’s sanctioned paper), but on a Friday in November, word spread that our assistant principal was on the warpath and that his target was the underground newspaper.  Students were being called into his office, and rumors were flying all over our campus.  Internally, I was wondering whether the Penisaurus was to blame, that perhaps I had crossed a line with my last panels.  I was always a little edgy but was also cognizant of the power (and potential danger) of words.  At least that’s what I was thinking.

I was not called into the office that Friday and unfortunately had the whole weekend to contemplate and anticipate what might happen upon my return to school.  I wondered about probable punishments and how my parents might react – especially when they discovered that a Penisaurus was the cause of that punishment.  I was certainly no angel growing up and had had many run-ins with legal interpretations and authority figures.  However, none of those incidents involved a Penisaurus and the requisite embarrassment that would accompany it. 

I was not called in to our assistant principal’s office on Monday – nor Tuesday nor Wednesday.  Though I was still expecting to be called out of class at any time through the rest of that week, I never was.  Many staff writers of our paper received reprimands ranging from demerits to detentions, but the effective punishment was shutdown of the paper.  The Penisaurus would experience no more adventures in the hallowed halls of BHS.

Fortunately for you, I will not provide any prehistoric samples from my high school days – mostly because I don’t have them.  I will leave it to your imagination, but suffice it to say, the Penisaurus faced all of your typical teenage trials and tribulations: love, heartbreak, acne, a growth spurt (I had to!), jealousy, cliques, and worries about the future.  He was just your typical teenage Penisaurus. 

Of course, a story like this had an interesting – and unexpected – epilogue.  During my senior year, I received a couple of nice academic awards, and for one of them, the assistant principal stopped me in the hallway and pulled me into one of the teachers’ lounges to provide me the particulars.  While I was standing there, I noticed a number of comics taped to the back of the door.  As I looked closer, there among classics like B.C., Doonesbury, and Life in Hell were several crude panels displaying the exploits of a young Penisaurus – my Penisaurus!  I could have received no higher praise.