Balls and Why I Hate Summer
So it's summer here in the Niagara Frontier, and that means two things: Tourism and Oppressive Heat.
Now, a lot of you are going to say, "Yes, but Unkle PK, I live in [insert hot place here], and it gets up to 110 degrees!"
Yeah? Well goody goody shitfuck for you. Let me explain something about where we are.
If you look at a map of the United States, you can see this place called New York. Find New York City. Found it? Okay, that's in the same State as me. Now I want you to find Detroit. Here's a hint, you dunderfucks, it's in Michigan. Now, move your fingers across until they meet at Lake Erie. That's the smaller of the Great Lakes, and also one of the most polluted in the world. Now remove one finger and put it back in your ass where you had it a minute ago. Good. Now move the remaining finger Northward. That's "up" for most of you. Stop when you get to Buffalo. You'll see that Buffalo and Niagara Falls are right fucking there next to each other. I'm jammed right in between them. Now, keep your eyes on the map and move your finger away. What is the first thing you notice? I'll give you a hint: it isn't Canada. It's the fact that we live in a fucking armpit between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. OH GOODY. Now, when you have two ENORMOUS bodies of water on either side of your little land mass, and the Prevailing Easterlies cut right across the lower one and avoids your area completely, what do you get? HUMIDITY. Lots and lots of it.
So, what you whiny fucktags think is balmy at 92 degrees is complete fucking hell here. Today it was something like 93 degrees with a humidity you could cut and serve like watermelon. Full, blazing sunlight and NO breeze. None. Nada. Nil. Nothing. It was like living in a sauna, only your sauna includes screaming kids and the smell of burning hot dogs. If that is your idea of heaven, then you can have it, buddy. Personally, I spent $120 on an air conditioner, and I'm going to soul-kiss it all damn day if I have to.
Actually, I spent $650 on an air conditioner for our living room. My wife calls it "R2-D2." I call it a lifesaver. However, the one in our bedroom works ten times better because it has about a sixth of the area to service. But that's not the fucking point.
The point is, summer is tough on the balls.
It gets hot and humid, and what happens? The balls naturally move away from the center of the body. It gets cold, and they move closer. This is just normal old Anatomy 101, folks. If you didn't know that, then you should probably go the fuck back to goddamn 10th grade. So, the balls move away from the center of the body. This means that they decide at certain times to pretty much go wherever the fuck gravity can take them. This means that sitting in a chair in this sort of weather causes a particular amount of testicular migration, which will generally end up in a painful and somewhat embarassing situation. Why? Because the balls decide that they are going to not only move Southward, but they are also going to stick to whatever they can. Generally, this is the inside of the thigh. So, when you stand up from said chair, if you are lucky, both balls will decide to either stick or swing free. I call this "The Golden Moment." But on most occasions, one decides to make a run for the front row while the other one takes the thigh express towards the asscrack. This causes a wrenching or ratcheting sensation, most easily identified by taking a cloth, grabbing two corners of it and yanking in opposite directions.
Now, this wouldn't bother me much, except that this happens in fun places as restaurants, movie theaters and other public places. This causes you to yelp out in a most un-masculine way for all to hear. And they all know it's you, because you are the one half bent over with a purple face. What only makes it worse is the fact that there is always someone who comes over and asks, "Are you okay?"
At this point, you have several options as far as responses go.
1. "Yes, I am fine. My balls were just wrenched from here to Hackensack."
2. "Oh, I thought that was you."
3. "Just practicing my Manitee mating calls. Going to Florida next month, you know."
4. "Oh god, I think I need a fucking ambulance."
Now, you generally want to go with #4, but it really isn't appropriate to have them call an ambulance for a ball-wrenching. #1 isn't really socially acceptable, although I usually go with it. #2 is considered rude at times, but it's very deceptive, so in some cases, it may be completely acceptable. #3 is just downright stupid, so it is the most viable one. Why? because people won't believe you if you say you wrenched your balls, but they will believe that you can make the mating call sounds of the fucking Manitee, and that you are wont to do so at the drop of a fucking hat.
So, let's review.
My balls are in constant pain right now, it's hotter than fuck, and it's probably twenty times less comfortable than where many of you live, despite what the mercury says.
I swear, it's like living in a fucking donut proofer. You can get sweat on the outside of a hot beverage.
And any of you West coasters that think you can take the heat? I challenge you to spend August here with nothing but a fan and two pairs of shorts. You'll be praying for death within a week, I promise you. Especially once your balls end up on opposite sides of your Hanes.
Now, a lot of you are going to say, "Yes, but Unkle PK, I live in [insert hot place here], and it gets up to 110 degrees!"
Yeah? Well goody goody shitfuck for you. Let me explain something about where we are.
If you look at a map of the United States, you can see this place called New York. Find New York City. Found it? Okay, that's in the same State as me. Now I want you to find Detroit. Here's a hint, you dunderfucks, it's in Michigan. Now, move your fingers across until they meet at Lake Erie. That's the smaller of the Great Lakes, and also one of the most polluted in the world. Now remove one finger and put it back in your ass where you had it a minute ago. Good. Now move the remaining finger Northward. That's "up" for most of you. Stop when you get to Buffalo. You'll see that Buffalo and Niagara Falls are right fucking there next to each other. I'm jammed right in between them. Now, keep your eyes on the map and move your finger away. What is the first thing you notice? I'll give you a hint: it isn't Canada. It's the fact that we live in a fucking armpit between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. OH GOODY. Now, when you have two ENORMOUS bodies of water on either side of your little land mass, and the Prevailing Easterlies cut right across the lower one and avoids your area completely, what do you get? HUMIDITY. Lots and lots of it.
So, what you whiny fucktags think is balmy at 92 degrees is complete fucking hell here. Today it was something like 93 degrees with a humidity you could cut and serve like watermelon. Full, blazing sunlight and NO breeze. None. Nada. Nil. Nothing. It was like living in a sauna, only your sauna includes screaming kids and the smell of burning hot dogs. If that is your idea of heaven, then you can have it, buddy. Personally, I spent $120 on an air conditioner, and I'm going to soul-kiss it all damn day if I have to.
Actually, I spent $650 on an air conditioner for our living room. My wife calls it "R2-D2." I call it a lifesaver. However, the one in our bedroom works ten times better because it has about a sixth of the area to service. But that's not the fucking point.
The point is, summer is tough on the balls.
It gets hot and humid, and what happens? The balls naturally move away from the center of the body. It gets cold, and they move closer. This is just normal old Anatomy 101, folks. If you didn't know that, then you should probably go the fuck back to goddamn 10th grade. So, the balls move away from the center of the body. This means that they decide at certain times to pretty much go wherever the fuck gravity can take them. This means that sitting in a chair in this sort of weather causes a particular amount of testicular migration, which will generally end up in a painful and somewhat embarassing situation. Why? Because the balls decide that they are going to not only move Southward, but they are also going to stick to whatever they can. Generally, this is the inside of the thigh. So, when you stand up from said chair, if you are lucky, both balls will decide to either stick or swing free. I call this "The Golden Moment." But on most occasions, one decides to make a run for the front row while the other one takes the thigh express towards the asscrack. This causes a wrenching or ratcheting sensation, most easily identified by taking a cloth, grabbing two corners of it and yanking in opposite directions.
Now, this wouldn't bother me much, except that this happens in fun places as restaurants, movie theaters and other public places. This causes you to yelp out in a most un-masculine way for all to hear. And they all know it's you, because you are the one half bent over with a purple face. What only makes it worse is the fact that there is always someone who comes over and asks, "Are you okay?"
At this point, you have several options as far as responses go.
1. "Yes, I am fine. My balls were just wrenched from here to Hackensack."
2. "Oh, I thought that was you."
3. "Just practicing my Manitee mating calls. Going to Florida next month, you know."
4. "Oh god, I think I need a fucking ambulance."
Now, you generally want to go with #4, but it really isn't appropriate to have them call an ambulance for a ball-wrenching. #1 isn't really socially acceptable, although I usually go with it. #2 is considered rude at times, but it's very deceptive, so in some cases, it may be completely acceptable. #3 is just downright stupid, so it is the most viable one. Why? because people won't believe you if you say you wrenched your balls, but they will believe that you can make the mating call sounds of the fucking Manitee, and that you are wont to do so at the drop of a fucking hat.
So, let's review.
My balls are in constant pain right now, it's hotter than fuck, and it's probably twenty times less comfortable than where many of you live, despite what the mercury says.
I swear, it's like living in a fucking donut proofer. You can get sweat on the outside of a hot beverage.
And any of you West coasters that think you can take the heat? I challenge you to spend August here with nothing but a fan and two pairs of shorts. You'll be praying for death within a week, I promise you. Especially once your balls end up on opposite sides of your Hanes.