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i was talking with a guy, he's an older guy, as in over 60 older. he expressed an interest in cycling. i told him to just do it. he said he had a problem. what? bad knees? gimp back? tweaked shoulder? whatever it is, biking is the sport for you. it seems i'm a suck guesser because i learned his specific problem is he sits on his testicles when he bikes (yeah, like you would have guessed that). well, one ball at a time i suppose but in a bad adjustment i reckon both of the boys could get stuck under the descending mass (because when you always live in the shadows it's hard to tell when your ass is about to get sat on by, of all things, your ass).

i explained they had special shorts to help with things like that. you know, ones that keep all your fellas north of the danger zone. he shook my consul off muttering that i didn't understand. i mean no doubt he's right, sitting on my own genitalia ain't exactly something i've struggled with over the years. i have no problem telling the world i'm not a guy swinging two bats in the batter's circle. even on my best day i might be waving the funny ring around that they put on the end of the bat to add weight. anyway, as i was still digesting this new piece of the human experience, he rocked me again by telling me there was an actual procedure to address his issue. if i wasn't aghast seven seconds ago, i was now.

procedure! PROCEDURE! what are you saying? like a scrotal lift?

yes, exactly like a scrotal lift. no man could shoulder the eruption of questions that poured from me. the questions soon turned to a lambasting about the vainglorious lifestyle. shit happens. bodies sag. bodies are supposed to sag. to hang. to become gelatinous and less appealing, physically, than they were ten years previous. accept it! deal! i mean grow up for crying out loud!

he, not delicately, told me to hold my tongue, to keep my opinions to myself. to not judge people who were in places i had not yet journeyed to. at least until i sat down on a toilet in the middle of the night and had my ever-drooping ballsack dip into the icy-cold water of the commode.

for the third time in my life, i fell silent.




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