Mar 17th, 2005, 12:36 PM
Greetings again, you unpolished panty-waist turds.
Ol' Shipwreck's got another tale to share with you folks, in hopes to keep you informed and educated in the fight against COBRA.
First off, let me apologize for my absense. I can only imagine how poorly you've all carried on without a REAL American Hero around. Probably all wearing dresses like them Queer Eye faggots are telling you is "hip" and "rad" or whatever the MTV is telling you to say.
Why have I been gone? I've been in the hospital. Now, even in my older age, my health is in tip-top shape. But accidents do occur, and this particular one happened during one of my "grooming" sessions.
Now for all my bitching about those Queer Eye folk, they do know the importance of making sure you look good in all the right places. I may be getting on in years, but I don't have to look it. Especially down there. You know where; You bunch of little homos got it on the brain all the time.
The Penis.
Shipwreck is a dignified fellow, and I refuse to have some sort of overgrown jungle of piss-scented wires sticking out of my pelvis. But Shipwreck is no sissy, neither. I don't go around with a razor and make myself look like a ten-year-old boy. But I do my share of trimming, since it keeps things neat down there, and it makes my dick look a couple inches bigger. (Not that I need it.)
So during one of these sessions, I cut off a good amount, since it'd been some time since I last gave my parts the once-over. Had enough to glue together in the form of a litter of kittens, I did. And after that was done and put on my shelf, I was ready for a night on the town to show off my First Mate.
Or so I thought.
First, I had some other hygiene to attend to - Taking a shit. Long story short, I fired off the old torpedoes toward Cobra Commander's underwater lair (in other words, I took a shit, but I'm a gentleman you crude bunch of dipshits), and wiped the excess from my crack.
While lifting up my penis to wipe away some urine, I noticed I'd missed a hair or two along the left side of my nutsack. Dammit! I'm trying to get myself ready to go pick up a girl that looks legal enough for the Stick, and now I gotta waste more time to deal with this shit. So I finished up, grabbed the scissors, and angrily started trying to snip away at the stray hairs.
And that's when it happened.
In my hasty clipping, I ended up pinching the dangling flesh of my sack between the scissor's sharp blades, and I squeezed before I realized it. I had cut into my nuts, and I had done it deep.
Have you ever had a raviolli or a steamed dumpling? The skin of the ballsack is about that thick, and looks about the same when it's cut open. Blood and pus (or semen) seeped out of the nickel-sized wound, rather than sweet meats and/or cheeses though. And cutting a dumpling doesn't hurt NEARLY as much as slicing into your cockbag. It stung, and it stung a lot. Like someone just shoved a hundred hypodermic needles filled with acid into the soft flesh.
But the pain started to disappear from my mind as I looked down. I saw it. Among the red and yellowish clotted gunk squeezing from my gash, I could see it. Brownish, pinkish, whiteish, veiny, wiggling, wrinkled. Like a brain combined with a walnut.
It was my testicle.
I was amazed. THIS is what one looks like! This was what MY testicle looked like! It was mind-blowing, like looking at your own asshole with a hand mirror. It was like opening a present on your birthday, and finding that one present you wanted so badly, but never expected to actually get. It was amazing. Morbidly, erotically, amazing.
For a good five minutes, I stared at the precious tool of life, no longer remembering pain, or the need to call 911. We were in our own world, my testicle and I. A different plane of existence. My own nutsack Narnia, if you will.
My hand slowly reached down, my fingers prying the wound on my sack open a little more, giving me better access to my prize. My finger gently tried to wiggle past the skin, and that's when my fingernail scraped against my bare ball.
And that pain I had forgotten about suddenly came rushing back. And it brought along some friends. I doubled over in pain, falling off the toilet seat. I flaied my arm frantically, trying to grab onto the counter. But all I ended up grabbing was the scissors, once again. And in a split second, I'd put my hands in front of me to brace myself as I hit the ground. One hand covered in blood and ball juice, the other holding scissors.
Holding scissors straight up. Straight up to where my face was falling toward.
Having your cheek punctured and then gouged open by closed scissors isn't NEARLY as bad after you'd scratched your exposed testicle with a sharp fingernail. But that didn't mean it was fun, either. I began to think, maybe I wouldn't be going out tonight after all.
As I crawled my way out of the bathroom, my crotched rubbed roughly against the carpet as I worked my way toward the phone. At that point, I wished for two things;
1) I wished I hadn't trimmed my hair, because it might have acted as some kind of protection from the rough threads.
2) I wished I'd cleaned my floors more often.
After a trek that felt like I'd just swam through the lava rivers of Hell, I reached the phone, and dialed 911. Trying to relay my story to the operater with half my face torn off, I could hear her fighting back laughter every time I said something like "nutsack" or "cut my nutsack." Childish bitch. I did my best to yell at her to shut her stupid face, and show some damned respect to a hero of this country. I told her who I was, and I was met with ignorant silence. Her voice was then replaced by a man's, who told me an ambulance would arrive shortly, while I heard girlish giggles coming from the background.
Long story short; 2 months of rehab in the hospital, 2 months of rehab outside of the hospital, and 71 stitches total (not including them having to restitch my testicle wound shut after an unfortunate seat-shifting), I was back in the saddle. Unfortunately, they had to shave my groin area to seal up the nutsack wound, and I called the "Doctor" a pedophilic faggotronic and punched him in the nose, so I have a court hearing about that in a couple weeks. But I'm doing okay right now. I'm due for another trimming, though.
So, what have we learned? Well, NEVER have any sharp or pointy objects near your nether regions when you're in a state of agitation. Penis grooming should always be done ina clear-headed, zen-like state, not unlike trimming a bonsai tree.
And now you know, and knowing is half the battle. GO JOE!
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