Middle age said hello to me today.
Well not middle age but as I was told by a fortune teller at the Renaissance Fair that I will only live untill 70 or so and seeing that my basic math skills are poor and I tend to round up I think my argument is valid. I don’t go in for all the hocus-pocus scooby-doo mystery stuff but she was a full-on Gypsy. Maybe she was just from Austria, either way she was mysterious and had a cool accent and I was drunk.
I digress.
I have spent the better part of my 36 years on this planet guarding my groin from the errant baseball the all to common punch from my 3 foot high nephew and the dreaded bar on girls’ bikes. I have successfully guarded them against the angry girlfriend as well only to have my testicular protecting record shattered by me. I guess it is true that you are your own worst enemy, and the worst enemy of your balls as well.
I’m not sure who says that but it is true none the less.
I am still at a loss to imagine what satanic geometry, what demonic underwear malfunction allowed this but at 3:23 PM on 30 January 2010 in the year of our Lord I sat on my balls.
The pain was almost an aside to the shear horror of what took place. I felt as if my soul left my body and my heart stopped beating for a moment. I was embarrassed, sad and dare I say impressed at my reaction time. As I sat in my chair and events unfolded I almost made it to a full sitting position before my brain registered the pain and I lept in the air and spun 300 degrees (insert Nutcracker joke) . I landed and braced myself for the oncoming waves of pain.
I would not be walking this one off.
I thought about calling my doctor but as she is a woman I try not to have conversations that start with “so here is the deal with my balls” I instead chose the internet.
I found that many other men have done the same thing and more severely.
I went to the fridge and got some frozen corn niblets and proceeded to watch “The IT Crowd” series on Netflix.
No moral to this story, unless you count “Dont sit on your balls” a moral.
Sorry about your balls.
I don’t understand how you men carry those things around all the time. Between to moving appendages is not where I would have put such a tender and delicate organ. You’d look pretty silly with them dangling from your sternum though.
Also, I tried to email you, but the mailer-daemon gave me the finger. Any suggestions?
I feel your pain…kinda, as I too am a ball-bearing species and just recently had a boxer mishap, which is almost just as bad as sitting on them. I have yet to sit on them, but I’m sure my time will come.
It is a funky adveture
please put more entries on here. i’m obsessed with reading them. sorry if i sound stalkerish, but i love reading your sarcastic stories. more more more
and p.s.-my friend’s dad read this and said he thinks he’s done the same and he feels your pain
I too feel sorry for your ball mishap.
It’s true as we men age, gravity eventually does tend to draw them closer to ol’ terra firma. And so it goes with the passing of time.
But, if you think sitting on them is painful…you haven’t stepped on ‘em yet.
As a 46 year old guy with one ball twice as large as the other (I have a condition known as a hydroseal due to an earlier hernia operation) I can easily identify with the ball protection thing. Everyone laughs when the dude on tv gets his sack whapped but it’s not that hilarious when it happens to you. A couple years ago, an dumbass friend of mine threw a soaking wet, heavy (because of the water, of course) Nerf football that directly hit my nutsack. After howling in pain for some time and somehow regaining my composure, I returned the favor by walking casually up to him, while smiling, made a fist and gave him a quick upper cut to his nutsack.
What fun!
And I have walked funnier than before ever since.
On the bright side, you can claim that you have balls big enough to sit on.
I would rather have computer hacking skills
I’m not middle age, but I’m pretty well endowed. For some time now, I have had a horrible fear that I would sit on my own balls. I thought I was crazy. I thought, “oh, it’s just this irrational fear, I’m just being silly.”
But now that I know it can actually happen, I’m so glad that I’ve been being careful. Thank you for confirming that I’m not crazy. My heart goes out to you and your tender testicles.
I do wonder though if they have some sort of device to protect you from sitting on your own balls…?
@Maggie
Not that I don’t believe your story about your friend’s dad, but sitting on your balls is akin to shitting your pants. There is no think, there is only do. If your friend’s dad “thinks” he sat on his balls, he didn’t. I only know because my dear husband sat on his ginger balls and I thought I was going to have to make a strange and shameful trip to an emergency room.
Ginger balls were a common treat in 13th century Russia.