My friend and I had just taken in a Friday afternoon Cubs game. As any Cubs fan knows, sometimes the only way to get through a game (the past couple of seasons anyway) is through mass beer consumption. Twist my arm!
After the game ended, we decided to continue our binge drinking at a bar in the area. We snag a table to ourselves and promptly order. Because we were only two people occupying a very large table, a group of people asked if they could join us. We, of course, obliged. It would have been a wonderful addition to the day had these blokes been fun or interesting, or perhaps just NOT shady strip club owners. But alas, the we-realized-too-late shady strip club owners sat with us, and one of their friends had clearly been drinking way more than the others. I am both awed and inspired by his beer-chugging ability and teeter-tottering…and slightly jealous.
Our food arrived, and as we are eating “Drunker Than The Rest” busted out (out of nowhere, mind you) matter-of-factly: “I have huge balls.”
Never usually at a loss for words, I’m not quite sure how to respond to that so I simply stated, “How nice for you.” I could see the enthusiasm begin to pump through his veins as he got closer to our faces and said, “Really! No, they’re huge!”
Once again. How. Nice. For. You.
At this point I am very clearly focused on my sandwich and am a bit annoyed at the ball distraction. I want to make him go away, so we decided to ignore him, but that only seemed to fuel the fire more. He then asked us, “Do you want to see them?” My friend and I looked at each other, both a bit unsure. I mean, what if these are some crazy big balls that I may never have the opportunity to see again? Was it worth the risk of losing our appetites? I had about half my sandwich left and did NOT want the delicious food to go to waste.
Not being much of a gambler I informed him that we were trying to eat and to please take his balls elsewhere. “No, no, seriously you have to see them!” At this, he deftly unzipped his pants with one hand, nimbly reached in and pulled out what I can only assume is his ball. One ball. One enormous ball of the likes I have never seen before, nor do I care to ever see again.
Seriously. Elephantitis. Crazy huge.
I wasn’t sure whether to point and scream or applaud. The rest of the day we spent in a sort of daze. My friend and I couldn’t quite get over that some dude had showed us ONE ball in a crowded bar at 4:00 PM on a Friday. That stuff just doesn’t happen to normal people.
Moral of the Story:
If you have big balls, yay for you. Keep ‘em in your pants, though! Especially when someone is eating!
There are so many follow-up questions I have for this fellow, I wish I had been more coherent. How does he jog? Why are his balls like that? And how did he so gracefully remove the ONE ball from his pants? Magic hands!
The icing on the cake was that when I told another friend about this incident she knew who this guy was! He had apparently gone to college with us and was often seen taking his balls (or ball) out at inappropriate times.
My question: Why not the shaft? What are you hiding, Magic Hands???