Often enough, in social situations, I've been considered a dullard or dim-witted. Not constantly, but within the severe admixture of urban sophisticates, self-absorbed strivers, literati, and their spouses--enough, certainly. The type of person who does this is quick to trust his or her own prejudices, and not coincidentally, has an exaggerated sense of his own stature.
Three times I've been parodied in fiction, always as a kind of hapless and kindhearted (or perhaps thuggish) buffoon. The basis for this cruelty is:
men with gigantic, long and thick penises are often demeaned.
Also, my perfect form emits a glow and burns the retinas of many if they attempt to look directly at me. For some reason, this encourages jealous attacks on my intellect. It's true, I'm a larger-framed man than most, well proportioned as to not appear freakish, and not only do I understand the rules of at least a half-dozen major sports, I can play them as well. This does not make my ideas about wood-burning car engines laughable.
True, I may indeed be a little slow, but you would be too if four gallons of blood were coursing through your enormous hydraulic device of a penis, you smug pricks.