'Puppetry Of The Penis’ is certainly a show to see, but then anyone can go along to the show. I wanted to experience something more. I wanted to see ‘Puppetry Of The Penis’ auditions! In fact, I reasoned, I wanted an insider’s view - after all, if anything could be funnier than seeing professionals doing tricks with their dicks it would have to be seeing poor amateurs doing the same. As much as the prospect filled me with fear, I could think of only one way to see the auditions; I would have to go and audition myself. Which was how it was that I - seeking a story - became the story in what must have been an otherwise quiet news weekend.

I presented at Her Majesty’s Theatre in Adelaide at twelve noon on Saturday, just as directed. I had a notebook under my arm and five compulsory tricks under my belt. I was ushered in to join the group in front of the stage. The invited media circus had already arrived. I counted eight men and three women. Between them, they juggled three video cameras, two SLRs and one Polaroid.

I could count one auditionee. Me!

“Run!” my better judgement demanded. “Run away now while you still have a chance!”

I had been looking forward to meeting the other auditionees. Their camaraderie was to be my comfort in this ultimate test of humility. And if others were auditioning, there would be at least some chance I would not be the smallest guy there. Theoretically, anyway.

Aaron, Barry and Brett, the professional dick tricksters, exploded onto the stage. They sprouted amusing anecdotes about the show. They were good guys. I liked them. I started to relax. Then Barry got his dick out - and turned it into the Eiffel Tower! A mighty plump and well groomed Eiffel Tower, if you ask me.

I wanted to cry.

“Don’t worry,” said Barry. “The more tricks you do, the more it will stretch.”

I started to cry.

The boys cheered me up with hearty dick demonstrations. Sniffles turning to smiles, I knew I could not let the team down. Everyone had come along for a scoop, but only one of us was prepared to pull down their pants for a story. I climbed up to the stage to undress. The lights caught my belt buckle as I tossed my jeans to the floor and in what seemed like slow motion, my underwear followed. I could feel myself shrinking.

“See, it’s warm under the lights.”

“Not warm enough” I said, grateful to be delivered my first line. I could almost hear the ‘easy’ laughs.

The press could smell meat. They wanted their shots. Cameras circled, snapping from the darkness like deep sea fish with worm wooing lights. The professional cock doctors joined in for a group shot. As they dangled about, a terribly strange feeling came upon me. I felt an almost overwhelming urge to give one a tug. ‘Toot! Toot!’ It was one of those occasions where the image is so strong and yet so very wrong that one almost believes the image is real. It scared the hell out of me. As if I did not have enough to worry about! I longed to have pockets. Pockets with holes.

Dick trick time. The unfairly endowed became a panel of judges. I stood alone, my not so private parts in my hand. The most common fear is said to be an untimely erection. I knew I would never have the confidence to foil flaccidity, but nerves were having their own way with me. I needed to piss.

“The Eiffel Tower,” commanded a voice from the dark.

I felt a sense of relief; it’s my worst trick and I wanted it out of the way. I have a horrible fear of heights and though my tower tends to not be so tall, it still frightens me ill. It hurts a bit too.

“The Windsurfer.”

Stock standard dick trickery. It’s all about keeping it taut.

“The Loch Ness Monster.”

Somewhat a favourite of mine, I have to admit. My appreciation grows not from my ability, but from an affinity for all that is cute. I almost enjoyed it when they asked me to turn Nessie’s head to the camera.

“Hi kids!” I squeaked like some sort of small time ventriloquist.

It must have gone over well because with quite some alarm that I noted one of the lads had scored me a perfect ten for the trick. Up until this point, it had never crossed my mind that I might actually make it through the audition. These crazy people might want me back!

“The Hamburger.”

I gave them my best all beef patty (hold the special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions) on scrotum encased buns.

“Those are some nice pink buns you've got there.”

“Over practice,” I was forced to confess.

“The Wristwatch.”

It is a trick designed to sort the men from the boys, but I am a lucky boy blessed with very small wrists. And a little boy’s wristwatch is a wristwatch all the same.

“That’s the last trick. You can go.”

And I was gone. I flew from the stage and out the side door - running away down the street I realised I had forgotten to do two tricks of my own: ‘The Putter’ and ‘The Grandfather Clock’. No matter, I thought, I may still get a chance. And I hope that I do. With a few dick tricks up my sleeve, this is one amateur who is ready to go pro.