As you all know, I like to joke around on this blog. Exaggerate a little bit, maybe say some outlandish things to get a chuckle, put my home address in a post on accident – anything for a laugh.
Right now, however, something is weighing heavily on me that I kind of want to talk about. I apologize for the somber tone, but some things just can’t be taken lightly:
Assuming that it exists, I need to get scrotum rejuvenation surgery.
Allow me to elaborate.
All things considered, I’m doing pretty well. My heart has been steadily beating for almost three decades without missing a beat. My brain works well enough that I can remember things that happened to me 25 years ago. All of my tissues and organs have done their jobs without any real complications for 28 years and without a single moment to rest. That’s 245,280 hours of continuous use without a single malfunction. How many things can you say that about? My laptop made it 12 months before breaking. My car is 18 years old and only barely runs thanks to thousands of dollars in repairs.
But I’m not getting any younger, and the signs are showing up more and more frequently. I’m fighting a losing battle with a body that, little by little, is starting to atrophy. My face is starting to show the first signs of smile lines and crow’s feet, my left achilies tends to get sore after running, my right knee gets sore sometimes, instead of burning it off instantly, my body turns food into fat if I don’t exercise – I’m still young and hopefully have a few more years left in me, but I’m getting more and more of those little reminders that I’m not 18 anymore, and haven’t been for over a decade.
On the top of that list of reminders is my sack. For those of you that don’t know, the scrotum is that sweet little pouch between your legs that your balls are in. It helps you regulate the temperature of the seed in your nuts by regulating the distance from your body. When it’s hot outside, it stretches out to distance your balls from your body to keep them cool enough. When it’s cold, it contracts, pulling your boys in towards your body.
At least, that’s what it’s supposed to do. One of two things has happened:
Either my scrotum, much like an old sock, has lost all of it’s elasticity, or my seed is now incredibly sensitive to heat, and the best place for my balls to be at all times is as close to my knees as possible.
And that is why I want to go under the knife and get my scrotum back to an acceptable position.
Now, this isn’t a vanity thing – granted, there’s nothing that women want and men envy more than a firm, perky sack, but it’s not something that bothers me enough to warrant surgery, unless of course I got a surgeon to completely remove it and replace it with a tiny ming vase…(note to self: ask surgeon about the possibility of replacing scrotum with tiny ming vase).
It’s not a fertility thing either. I’m what someone who is studying for the GREs and temporarily knows a lot of stupid useless words, a character in a Kevin Smith movie or a high school kid who’s trying to sound smart (or all three) would call myopic – I’m far too short sighted to even consider the reproductive ramifications of a poorly heated set of balls.
It’s about comfort. You are aware of my running difficulties, but lately, it’s been getting hard to sleep. That thing is all over the place, exploring places that it doesn’t belong and getting pinched or rolled on to in the process, and it’s starting to piss me off. I’m getting closer and closer to the day when I wake up, feel a little bit uncomfortable, and then realize that while I was asleep, my scrotum twisted its way around my throat and is now lying next to my face on the pillow.
I’ve had enough of this foolishness. Fortunately, in this day and age, I believe that a solution is available. As I’m sure most of you know, there is a procedure called vaginal rejuvenation. I looked it up on the Internet, and the procedure boils down to this: You pay them between four and five thousand dollars, they give you some local anesthesia, they perform some horrible, gag-inducing surgery on your vagina, removing a little here, tightening a little there, until you’ve got the vagina of…I’m not quite sure. An 18 year old? A 17 year old? A 12 year old? I don’t know what you shoot for with something like that.
That’s not the point. The point is that a scrotum is a whole lot less complicated and in the same area, and I’ll bet that for five grand, I can go to sleep at night knowing that I’m not going to wake up with my balls perched neatly on my shoulder. Hell, I’ll bet that I could get it done for cheaper. It’s not like it would be as delicate as a vagina. You could probably just cinch the thing up a few inches with a staple gun….hmm…
…I’m going to go try something real quick. Be right back…
…alright, something came up, and I need to take a quick trip to the emergency room. Have a pleasant day!