2001-02-10 - 03:07:00

[We'll be returning to The Band Trip soon, don't worry...]

So,

Before I begin, can I just say that I just got a Spam e-mail with the wholesome subject of "Is anybody watching? Come feel the inside of my vagina." Okay. That's just vile. I could have been a six year old kid for Chrissake...or maybe an 80 year old nun who just keeled over from heart failure at seeing the word "vagina" in print. Show some class. Jesus.

Anyway, prepare for the rollercoaster nightmare right that is my train of thought. It's pretty scary how warped my little mind is, so remain seated at all times.

By the way, I'm probably going to kill my own share of 80 year old nuns with this entry. My bad. Sorry.

Let's start with this blasted cold. It's driving me mad. I got it Christmas eve and it almost went away by the 7th of January or so. The really fun part is that I've broken into a riotous coughing spasm at least once a day...for the last month. We're talking coughing, gagging, then even a few times throwing up. It's nasty.

And then, lucky me (lucky, as in "look mom, I just caught my eyelid on the antenna of a passing bus...boy am I lucky!"), this past Tuesday night, the cold nailed me again.

And the absolute worst part of it is the watery eyes. So, Mr. Fool, why are your eyes so watery? I'm glad you asked gentle reader. See, my eyes are watery because for the past three days, I've had to sneeze. Occasionally, I do--and the relief comes like finding an icy glass of IBC root beer deep in the desert. But within two minutes, I need to sneeze again and I can't.

So, I've been walking around with my mouth open and my eyes rolled back in my head for three days now. It's a nightmare. If only someone would just come and cut my arms off, I think I could pass for an armless zombie, which wouldn't be so bad, really...as long as I could find Mighty Warrior Princess Kung Kitty Fu Kat. ;)

*sigh* Anyway, so now my train of thought kicks in (80 year old nuns should begin preparing their final wills and testaments). See, this phenomenon I'm experiencing is fundamentally similar to the myth of blue balls. Except the agony of needing to sneeze and not being able to is real, while the supposed pain in a man's genitals when he needs to have sex is nothing more than a ploy to get him laid.

[*thump* One nun down. Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem.]

That's when my brain began thinking about testicles [*thump*]. Testicles, known in the vernacular as balls, nuts, huevos, cajones, genitals, scrotum, [damn, probably wiped out a whole parish there] and several other names that my cold clouded brain can't think of right now, are frickin' stupid.

First off, let's choose sides. On this side, we have the creationists [now missing several nuns], and on this side, we have the evolutionists. Let's begin our discussion with the rapidly dwindling creationist group (did I mention the English variant of "bollocks?" *thump*).

If you are a believer in God, your Purpose in life is to serve and worship Him. He takes your reproductive organs, wraps them in icky leftover elbow skin (credit Tim Allen there), and proclaims that men should be the head of the household. The only reason God gave you testicles is to (praise the Lord!) give women an easy target to strike with the strongest muscle in their bodies.

At the same time, God forbids similar testicle abuse by women: (Deuteronomy 25: 11-12)

When men strive together one with another, and the wife of the one draws near to deliver her husband out of the hand of him who strikes him, and puts forth her hand, and takes him by the secrets;

then you shall cut off her hand, your eye shall have no pity

So remember that girls! If your husband is fighting and you grab his opponent by the balls, God says that your hand shall be cut off. Note, however, that God says nothing about taking your own husband by the secrets. God has a sense of humor. He likes his creation to be as messed up as possible, so he tells men to be the head of the household, then puts our balls in our wives' hands and tells us to tell our women how things are gonna be. Then God goes off and has a beer and a good laugh, and we're left with women telling us how to dress and that we better not even THINK about going to the hockey game on Saturday night when there's a perfectly good Tupperware party down the street.

There's no reason God needed to put men's testicles outside of their bodies. That's ridiculous. He just wanted a good laugh. The Bible says God made man in his image. Well, I bet God's balls are hanging down where Mrs.God can get ahold of them. Hell no!

(Sidenote: God, I love Richard Zacks's "Underground Education." It's probably the most educational book I've ever read...fascinating read. You can learn all sorts of things like that passage from the Bible...The ULTIMATE bathroom book. Get it. The Fool says "Two thumbs up and a smile.")

Anyway, let's leave the anti-ball-abuse creationists (because testicular abuse is a favorite hobby of mine), and check in on our friends the evolutionists.

If you don't believe in God; if you believe in Nature, or nothing, or whatever, you have but one purpose in this life: to procreate. To leave offspring to carry on your genetic material. That's it, nothing more. You can tell yourself that you're striving for a higher good, but if there is no God, there is no higher good. There's only reality.

So, from that perspective, we see that Nature, too, has a sense of humor. She (being the evil she-bitch that she is) takes our testicles, the only reason we exists, our only biological purpose in life, and she wraps them in a little sack and hangs them outside of our bodies.

Once again, it serves no logical purpose. I know, sperm die at body temperature, so they have to hang out down someplace where it's a little cooler. And if they didn't die at body temperature, there would be weird problems with crusty old geriatric sperm harassing the young eggs years after Mr. Penis has left, and that kind of thing is just wrong.

But still, I would think there'd be SOME kind of better system for toting your sperm around than dangling it between our legs like a marble bag. We're primates for Chrissake! We swing from trees! Isn't kinda counterproductive to have our reason for existence in such a vulnerable position?

That's weird as hell, man.

Anyway...all I know about my balls is that they love being kicked by women. Other than that, I guess they're alright.

Thanks for your assistance in nun homicide. I'm sure the authorities will be knocking on my door any moment now. But don't worry--I won't tell them you had anything to do with this, unless they offer me Charlie's Angels or a sexy policewoman to brutally kick me for a while... ;)

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