Jun 15 / Amy

Balls on the Table

Ewww., People are awesome, Pretty AND functional, Would somebody please shut me up, You've got to be kidding me

Seriously people, is there anything more disturbingly fascinating than balls? The thing that I find the most interesting about balls is what some guys choose to do with them. Take, for instance, my friend Fake Name. Fake Name used to use his balls to signal when he was done with something. If he was out at a bar and was ready to go home but no one else was, he’d take his balls out and put them on the table. And what can you say to that other than okay, it’s time to go? And then there was a college acquaintance of mine who, at the end of the night as the bars were closing, would stand in the street and present his right ball to the glaring headlights of the cars pulling out of the parking lot. The strangest thing about this practice (because the rest of it seems so natural) is that he would only ever show his right ball, which makes one wonder what was going on with lefty. Was it a strange color? Did it have a large mole or perhaps contain the teeth of the twin he absorbed in utero? Did he even have a second, or maybe third, ball??? To this day, I have no idea.

Some guys are motivated to show their balls by things other than alcohol. Some use their balls as a weapon to disarm you. Once I was visiting some friends at Westminster College when a random guy we passed in the hallway of one of the dorms asked me if I wanted to know what time it was. “Well, I suppose so,” I said, even though I had a perfectly good watch on. He wasn’t wearing a watch himself, so I was expecting some sort of hilarious joke or trick having to do with the sun or wizardry or something. What I wasn’t expecting was his balls, which he had somehow wrapped around his wrist so as to look like a watch of sorts. Seeing the ball watch was all it took to get his pals going. “Want to see a mushroom?” one of the other guys asked. “Sure!” I replied fascinated, and he held his balls in his fist so that the part that stuck out looked like a mushroom of sorts. “Can I get your phone number? Want to see a turtle? A snail? Perhaps a trout?” It was like balloon animals, and I couldn’t look away.

Other dudes are motivated by the novelty or strangeness of their balls and must show them to the world–you know, for posterity. Steve and I once knew such a fella. At the slightest request (you wouldn’t even have to say please), he would take out his freakishly large balls. If fact, we were first introduced to him at a party via his balls. “Hey, how are you?” said the host. “By the way, have you ever seen Such-and-Such’s balls? No? Hey, Such-and-Such, come on over here and show Steve and Amy your balls!” And he did. The first time I saw them, I didn’t even know how to process what I was looking at. Huge is not an adequate adjective to describe them. In fact, the English language doesn’t have a big enough adjective for these balls. These suckers were the size of grapefruits. No lie. By the fifth or sixth time I saw them, though, they seemed like just a fact of life. We all assumed it was some sort of elephantitis of the balls, but a couple of years ago he finally got them checked out by a doctor and it turns out they were quadruple herniated. Again, no lie.

And then there’s the people who “accidentally” show you their balls, like the guy I saw doing keg stands in a kilt… and only a kilt. And he wasn’t even Scottish. And those who stretch without underwear on. When I was out walking on the Tobacco Trail (great name for a fitness trail, isn’t it?) this morning I saw a guy who had a ball hanging out of his short shorts. It may have been an accident, but then again it did have a smiley face drawn on it…
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UPDATE: I had somehow forgotten that the underwearless kilted wonder was also wearing a monkey mask (thank you, Steve and Amy B.), which makes that scenario even more terrifying / awesome. People often ask me if I’m making up the stuff I write about. Well doubters, feast your eyes on the following photographic evidence sent to me by the aforementioned “host”:

May it haunt your dreams like it haunts mine.

As an added bonus, here’s a picture from the same party that depicts why you should not try to stuff adult balls into a Halloween costume that was intended for a child. Or a person with child sized balls.