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ell, here on Castro Street this produced some wonderful responses.

"Sir," I said as I accosted a likely fellow. "Sir, do you have a dick?"

"No, no thank you," he said, pressing ahead, avoiding my gaze. I let this thought sink in for a few moments.

"Well, then, does anybody ELSE have a dick?" I asked.

"I do!" said a fellow.

"Cool! Show me your dick, let me put it on my web page -- not your face, just your dick -- and I'll pay you a dollar!" I waved my stack of brand new $1 bills.

It took forever

It took forever to get anyone to drop his trousers. But finally someone did -- a fact for which I will be eternally grateful. I pulled out my digital camera, pointed at the volunteer's crotch, and snapped the shutter. "Excellent!" I said. "Great! You really do have a dick!"

This drew some attention and a chuckle or two. I peeled off a dollar bill and handed it to him. He shook his head no, but I insisted. "A bargain is a bargain, right? There's more where that came from!" He smiled and took his payment.

It was easier getting the next one. It would turn out that he was one of the most exhibitionistic guys on the street that day. I was on a roll. Thank goodness!

Finally people were paying attention. Even those who hadn't seen me pull off my pants wondered what I was wearing underneath, and as photographers realized that I was nude they started stalking me like deer hunters.

Sometimes I'd oblige them: lift up my sandwich boards to give them a good view. Sometimes I'd tease them: "Hey, I'd pay you a dollar to let me take a photo of your dick. You want to photograph my dick? Pay me a dollar!" I'd hold my hand out, but no one forked over.

Sigh. No one respects artists these days.

Dry spells

Sometimes I'd hit a dry spell -- 8 or 10 minutes with no takers. "Hey, sir, have you got a dick? Pull your pants down and I'll pay you a buck!" A pair of lesbians walked by. "Hey, I'll even pay you if you don't have a dick!" This usually drew a laugh from women -- although one sour lez scowled in my direction and then asked me what I wanted to be when I "grew up."

Oh, how clever, right? When I grow up? Puhleeeeze. This is a serious newspaper. I'm already doing 100% deadly serious, adult things.

The lesbian in question had her arm around her lover, holding her possessively. They won't last long.

The crowd effect was definitely in operation. I'd get a taker, then 2 or 3 others would follow. Then another dry spell. Cameras were clicking everywhere -- but the photographers were looking nervous and unadventurous, acting as if they didn't want to get involved. Of course, I knew that probably half of the photo folk would grow up soon and turn into mature adult exhibitionists one day; it was just a matter of time. Might as well give them something to think about in the meantime, eh? Show 'em what a real photographer with guts does to entertain the masses. That was my mission for the day!

"Your dick for a dollar! Your dick for a dollar!" I shouted. "Crisp, new, one-dollar bills fresh off the presses!" I pretended to sign one and blew on it to "dry" the ink.

After 8 or 10 successes, I'd gone hoarse about three times, and a fellow tapped me on the shoulder. Turns out it was a cop.

A cop??

What happened next?