My Last Willing Testicle
One Less Ball to Answer
Here's a continuation of the humorous tale:
"My Last Willing Testicle"
When the Buddha yacked on about ending the cycle of suffering, did he mean the cycle of birth and death, that seems to have been around for hundreds of years? Or did he mean something more sinister, like left-handedness? Only his hairdresser knows for sure. But whom is his hairdresser? And is he anything like a hairchest of drawers?
I’ll be the first to admit that I do not have a hairchest, although I have plenty of drawers, or what people might call panties, or underwear, and both are related to my unwilling testicle.
You see, I have grown weary of the pissing contests, the blue jeans and cargo pants, and guns, guns, guns good God almighty! And to make matters worse, there is the wolfing down of steroids, testosterone and boner pills. Is there not already enough yang in the world?
So I’m gone, fellas. See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.
As I depart this mortal coil, I leave behind my last willing testicle, a symbol of my surrender to the absurdity of it all. It's not that I'm against reproduction, per se, it's just that I'm against the whole "survival of the fittest" thing. I mean, who needs that kind of pressure?
To my fellow humans, I bequeath my collection of comfortable pants, my extensive library of self-help books, and my prized possession: a toaster that only toasts one side of the bread. May it serve as a reminder that sometimes, it's okay to be a little half-baked.
And to my testicle, I say: you're free, my friend. Go forth and multiply, or don't. I really don't care. Just don't come crying to me when you're stuck in a pair of skinny jeans.
Signed,
The Former Owner of Two Fully Functioning Testicles (but not anymore)
P.S. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the land of the eunuchs, sipping tea and enjoying the quiet.
P.P.S. Don't bother trying to find me. I've taken a vow of silence, and I'm not even sure what my name is anymore. Just call me "The Guy Who Opted Out".