Last Friday I accompanied a lovely lady to a screening of Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds. We were at the part where Brad Pitt has his platoon lined up and he’s talking about “KEEL-in NAUGHT-Zees” when I noticed—holy shit!—right there in the middle of the formation is Paul Rust!

See, Paul Rust was an acquaintance of mine in college who was always performing wacky skits each Friday night at No Shame Theatre, an open-to-everyone improv stage in the theater building. Paul was a big part of it and he always seemed to be taking off his clothes and squealing. Offstage, you could say he stood as this great brand of nerd-celebrity who was super nice to everybody. Even if you hated his comedy you’d still say hi to him at a party and not feel weird about it.

One time Paul came out on stage with a Tupperware container and he was mumbling sad things like how he couldn’t get a date and how his dog died—and all the while taking off his clothes. Once he completely stripped himself, he peeled off the Tupperware lid and removed his own feces (he had force-fed himself for two days before shitting backstage) and, still whimpering, proceeded to smear them all over his body before soliciting hugs from the scampering audience. The point? I have no fucking idea. Paul moved from Iowa to Los Angeles a few years ago so I called him up to talk about his blossoming acting career. He was just getting out of a car-wash.

Street Carnage: You remind me of Gavin the way you were always getting naked. What’s your dick like?

Paul Rust: [Uncomfortable laugh]

Seriously, for the life of me I can’t remember the appearance of your dick. You’re Jewish, so I assume you’re circumcised.

Uh, it’s 19 inches flaccid, and three inches erect.

You’re not taking my question seriously.

I can’t answer this question!

Why not?! You’re the naked guy.

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t measured it recently.

Pull it out right now and check. I certainly can’t see it from New York.

I’m standing outside.

That’s OK. Just reach in your pocket. C’mon, dude. To make it even-steven, here are my dimensions [I whisper them into the phone].

I can’t answer this, Peter! I worry because there’s no way I cannot seem like an asshole. If I say it’s small, people will just say “Fuck that guy, he has a small dick.” If I say I have a big dick, people will just say “Fuck that guy, he’s lying.” And if I say I have an average-sized dick, well, that’s just a boring answer.

I assume the shaft of your dick is darker than the skin around the head, right?

Actually, it is the opposite. The head of my dick is darker than the shaft. When I was a kid, I didn’t understand what circumcision was. When I looked at my penis—you know how the head of the dick is wider than the shaft?—well, I thought that was the result of circumcision, that the doctor cut off all the flesh and that’s why you saw all the veins. I always thought, “Wouldn’t you just bleed to death?”

Projects?

I’m developing a movie for Gary Sanchez Productions, which is Will Farrell and Adam McKay’s company. I’m also just about to start work on a TV show that I sold to Conaco, which is Conan O’Brien’s production company. The TV show is about my experiences working retail in the Midwest.

You’re still not talking about your dick.

One time when I was ten years old my sister came home from work and me and my two friends came out of the bathroom with a ruler. She knew immediately what we were up to. One kid had a bigger dick than me, and I remember that being a source of embarrassment at the time.

[Ed. Note: Follow-up emails and phone calls inquiring the size of Mr. Rust’s ten year old penis went unanswered as of press time.]

-PETER MADSEN

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