New Condoms! In The Twenty-Fourth-And-A-Half Century!!!!!

So Bill Gates has put up a $1 million reward if some clever cocksmith can create the next-generation condom.
This has attracted its share of sniggers, but the truth is that condoms flat-out suck.  They do reduce sensation significantly, and in the distinctly unromantic time it takes to slip on one, erections can be lost.  And that difficulty means more STDs transmitted, more unwanted pregnancies, more excuses for douche guys to be douches.
We can put a man on the moon, but that just gave us Tang; a real, high-sensation, easy-to-wear condom would mean a safer world in millions of tiny ways.
But one of the new condom contenders is Origami Condoms – which, wisely, has different models for different sex acts, male, female, and anal.  And I am looking forward to all the many ways in which science can improve my nookie (and exactly what levels of reward will come with Origami’s impending Kickstarter campaign).  But this statement really caught me off-guard:
1. Easy donning method slides the condom onto the penis in 2.8 seconds.
Isn’t that, uh, kind of specific?  Two-point-eight seconds?  That’s… pretty damn exacting timing.  Like, how much better is that than three?   Is this an average time?  How many condoms did they time going in before they arrived at this?  One pictures scientists, brows furrowed with concern, going, “Dammit, we’re at three-point-five.”
“But Phil, we’re guiding the glans to a ridiculous amount already,” a junior lab assistant observes.  “We can’t possibly change the angle without risking…”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” the lead scientist yells, throwing his laptop to the floor.  “I have studied penises all my life.  When I was a young boy, all I did was catalogue the geometries of every holes my cock could fit into.  The UN Council of Intercourse has issued me their highest awards for my penile cladding techniques.  And if I say there’s a way to break the peen of light, then it will be done!”
Seriously, with this kind of specificity, there had to be contests.
I’m imagining a row of men, lined up like Olympic swimmers and sporting bobbing erections, with a referee and a whistle.  At the sound of the gun, eight men whip this condom down to wrap their willies, as kneeling scientists triumphantly click the stopwatch.  “Three-point-one seconds!” one claims.
“Oh, we can do better than that,” the head of Origami condoms mutters angrily.  “Get the fluffers.”
Then there had to be the failures – the poor men who panicked and wound up with this art deco Rubbermaid thing wrapped around their ankle, the boys with broken penises who aimed wrong, the shameful premature ejaculation.  These condoms come with electronics, are outfitted with memory cloth like Batman’s wings to change shape in mid-coitus, perform exacting calculations to caress the shape of your tallywhacker to six significant digits.
Eventually, you will desire them for masturbation.  For platonic relationships.  For illicit wedding ceremonies in Switzerland, where a man and his condom can finally lie together in the way that man and God intended.  These are the condoms of the future, and nothing will stop them from their inevitable goal of replacing humans with a rubberized, glorious, endlessly moisturized environment of orgone and pyramidal bouncing.