Cock talk How I became a Dick Lit author without even trying BY STEVE ALMOND

I cop to a certain ignorance when it comes to pop culture. I don’t own a television. I don’t get a newspaper. My Internet connection is, as far as I can tell, powered by hamsters. I actually tend to avoid consuming pop culture, which has always seemed to me an excuse to be clever without much emotional investment.

Perhaps for this reason I was not aware, until a few weeks ago, that there was a literary genre known as Dick Lit. And, more strangely, that I was considered in some quarters to be a Dick Lit author.

Here’s how it happened: I was on a panel called "Fiction of Singledom" in Chicago. The moderator brought up Chick Lit and a spirited discussion ensued. At a certain point, I said something brilliant like, "Well, I don’t know if there’s a male equivalent of Chick Lit, but if there is —"

"Actually, there is," said another panelist.

"Really? What’s it called?"

"Well," she said demurely, "it rhymes with Chick Lit."

Shtick Lit? I thought. Hick Lit? Nick Lit?

Then it dawned on me.

I think we can all agree that it’s pretty cool that there’s a genre out there named after male genitalia. I’m certainly honored to be counted among my Dick Lit brethren, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure I live up to the assignation.

For one thing, I’m going make sure I include at least one Dick in every story I write. I can’t guarantee the Dick in question will be erect, but I’ll do my best to move the plot in that direction, if you know what I mean.

Now don’t worry: I’m going to throw some tits and ass in there, as well. And plenty of vagina, of course. (Those Dicks have to go somewhere, right?) But I’m going to keep the focus on the Dicks.

And by Dicks, I’m not talking merely about the kind you keep in underwear. No, sir. I’m going to be writing about famous Dicks all through history. Dick the Lion-Hearted, for example, plays a prominent role in my latest short story, "Welcome to Sherwood Forest — Now Take Your Panties Off!"

William Shakespeare himself, considered our greatest bard, wrote not one, but two plays about Dicks (Richard II & III) and, as rumor has it, he personally couldn’t get enough Dick in his life. While I have not actually read either of these plays, I am given to understand they are both brilliant evocations of Dick’s unbridled lust for power, a theme which I find extremely cool, if a little on the heady side.

Of course, no survey of Dick Lit would be complete without a reference to the American classic of the genre, Moby-Dick. Once again, I have not had time, as yet, to read the entire book, but I have examined the cover and feel safe in noting that it concerns a crazed boat captain and a very large, pale fish.

Now: anyone who knows me even a little is aware that I’ve been working on my own magnum opus for several years, a biography of Richard Dawson. And I’m pleased to announce that I’ve just finished a draft of this important contribution to American game-show culture. The three-part volume, tentatively titled Survey Says: Hiccup, will be published next spring by MTV Press.

Of course, I won’t talk any more about my off-off-Broadway one-man play, How Nasty Was Nixon?, as this has grown tiresome for even my patient fans. I do want to mention that I’ve added a chorus of giant dancing phalluses.

When it comes to Dick, I come to play.

As a long-time music geek, I will also be producing some critical works on the underexposed oeuvres of musical giants such as Dick Wagner, Dick "Don’t Call Me Ringo" Starkey, Richard Hell, and, naturally, Dickey Betts.

Take that, Nick Hornby.

I should mention that I will not be writing about Dick Cheney for one simple reason: just thinking about Cheney for even a minute or two makes me really, really hot. I don’t know how to explain this exactly, as I am generally attracted to young liberal women with long hair and loose morals, not older bald men with proto-fascist political views. But I guess that’s what makes Dick such a fascinating genre — sheer unpredictability.

I’m sure there are some guys out there who find the entire Dick Lit label crass and condescending. But these are the same dudes who try to tell you that Britney Spears isn’t that hot, and that they wouldn’t fuck her silly, given the least opportunity.

And by this, I don’t mean to imply that I’m only going to be writing about heterosexual Dicks. Not at all. The great thing about Dicks, after all, is how diverse they are in their desires. One Dick wants chocolate, the next wants pistachio. One Dick worships Christ, the next Allah. That’s America. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers (almost all of them with dicks) have died over the years so that today’s American Dicks can enjoy the greatest freedoms in the world.

Among the other Dicks I will be writing about in the weeks to come: Dick Butkus, Dick Simmons, Dick Fox, Dick Avedon, Dicky Ricardo, and Dick Van Dyke.

I’ve also set up a hot line (1-900-HOT-DICK) for hard-core fans who just can’t get enough Dick. I certainly know what that feels like.

Somewhat predictably, there are certain critics out there who have had the temerity to accuse me of going the Dick Lit route for the "publicity." The argument goes like so: as a literary author, I was a hopeless failure. So I’ve turned to Dick, in a transparent attempt to win fame by appealing to people’s prurient interests.

To which I would respond: bingo!

Let’s just hope this works.

Steve Almond (and his Dick) can be reached at sbalmond@earthlink.net