Men and Their Secret TreasuresSubmitted by AllyJeans at 2005-08-26 03:27:50 EDT
Rating: 1.84 on 56 ratings (56 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Male friends are like dopey brothers. They talk about anything and everything with you. You’re seen as an asexual squakbox with tits. You become the confessional. You hear about breakups and affairs—questions of etiquette and proper gifts. It’s almost endless.
I never have the heart to turn one of these guys away, though. Despite how ridiculous it is. I mean, they know about my failures in my personal life and my list of problems. What makes them think I could give them good advice? It’s like seeking out Mike Tyson’s council in order to find a cure for your speech impediment. It’s like sticking a finger up your nose to see if you’d like a dick in your ass. It’s nuts.
But what really kills me is when they think I’m a freaking doctor. They ask me what crabs feels like—about how their dick hurts when they pee and what they should do about it.
“I’m not sure, Chuck. You could start by washing your balls every week or so…or at least when the smell starts to waft up to your face.”
Of course, I keep those comments to myself. I shrug and shake my head. I say, “See the doc,” and walk away as fast as I can. That usually works, but every now and then, I get a strange case. Like a couple years ago.
I went to a party for a friend of mine named, Jesse. He graduated from college and wanted to wig out. His buds were more than willing to set it up, and I was willing to go for the free booze and promise of ham. I’m a sucker for ham.
When I got there, Jesse was already at the point of no return. He had a lampshade upside-down over his head, like those cones they put on dogs to keep from chewing their stitches. He had some cuts up and down his right arm so I was sure the lampshade was prescribed. Then my other friend Bill came up to me and told me what happened. Apparently, Jesse had gone skateboarding with his new chapeau and smacked against a brick wall.
“You let him skateboard like that?” I asked.
“Sure.” Bill shrugged. “He was sober, then.”
As I mingled, Jesse eventually disappeared into another room. I thought he had passed out until he returned an hour later. He wasn’t wearing the lampshade anymore, but was still bombed. He was walking with Bill and the pair of them were laughing at some anonymous joke. Bill was practical beside himself. When he passed me, he grabbed Jesse’s shoulder and yanked him over. “Ally, you…” he started laughing again.
He looked at Jesse who was wobbling. Jesse returned the look and passed one of those “maybe we shouldn’t” expressions, but soon lost it with a “come on!” from Bill. Jesse giggled and said ok, and then Bill grabbed my arm and led the both of us into the bathroom.
“Ok, show her.”
Jesse got this weird smile on his face and started unbuttoning his pants.
“Let me out.”
“No way.” Bill stood between the door and me. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you miss this one.”
I turned back to Jesse and he had already dropped his boxers. He stood naked from the waste down. Bill now let out the loudest snort I had ever heard and he fell to the ground clutching himself. In the shock of it all, I hadn’t noticed why. I should have. It was very apparent.
One of Jesse’s nuts was the size of a grapefruit.
He stood beaming as if he just won first prize in the county fair. If he had enetered, he probably would have.
I shook my head. It was still there—stretched like a water balloon at breaking point. “What the fuck is that!”
Bill broke through his laughter. “It’s his nut!”
“How the fuck did that happen?”
Bill laughed again. “That’s the funniest part. He doesn’t know. It’s been like that for a week and he didn’t think it was a big deal.”
Jesse smiled again—the blue ribbon winner.
I pulled my eyes off it. Unconsciously I had been staring at it the entire time. “Go see a fucking doctor.” I said. “Jesus Christ, Jesse.”
He slurred. “Candy didn’t think it was anything to worry about?”
I turned to the idiot on the floor. “Fuck, Bill. How many people are you showing him to?”
“You, Candy…CNN.” He stood back up. “Shit this funny should have its own website.”
“I’m not joking, Bill. He needs to see a doctor.”
“He will—just as soon as I get a photographer and some people from the press.” He looked at the shower like he could see an imaginary vista in the distance. “I’m thinking about getting a backdrop that shows a Spanish Sunset…maybe a vineyard in France. This is a European nut”
Jesse sniggered. “That’s right. He’s ‘Frederick de Balzac!’”
Bill fell apart again.
“Let me out of here, you asshole.” He walked away from the door and I slid out. After Bill had separated from him, I pulled Jesse in a corner and suggested how immediate his problem was. Jesse promised to see a doctor and did. Turned out he had an infection and after a pound of antibiotics and a session in Willy Wonka’s Juicing room, he got it back to normal size. Bill is still very depressed about it.