Crunch Time

I was visiting one of my female drinkin' buddies this past weekend and, after a couple shots, I launched into a little "horseplay" as I'm known to do once alcohol meets bloodstream: throwing her over my shoulder, biting her ass, mussing up her hair and all that.

And in the midst of this playful tussle, her knee accidentally met my sack.

Now, I know that this was an accident, because she mentioned it about 1,000 times as I laid on the floor, writhing, groaning, stripped of the energy or wherewithal to get back up on my feet. So she eventually departed to the kitchen, leaving me splayed out on all fours for about twenty minutes.

When I rejoined her later, after apologizing yet again, she asked me exactly what it feels like to get knocked in the balls. And after thinking about it for a few minutes, all I could say was... you know how a hard-on can control the male body? Pull it in all sorts of devious and potentially shameful directions? Well, the balls are the only thing in the male body that have the hard-on's override switch.

When they get hurt -- tender buggers that they are -- cancel your fucking plans, mate. With one word from the balls, the mightiest of erections crumbles to nothing in a matter of seconds. All that pumping, white-hot testosterone is replaced with shots of searing pain. Everything shuts down so that the balls can announce to the rest of the body, "We're injured, chaps. And you're all taking a break until we feel right again." And, yes, when my balls speak, it's in a silly-ass Irish accent.

You ladies have to put up with a lot of pain. There's that once-a-month thing you got going on. And childbirth, which my mother constantly reminds me was no picnic. And of course dealing with us guys is probably a special sort of hell.

But you can be thankful that you will never know what it feels like to take one to the nuts.