Archive for the ‘vasectomy’ Category


Going to bed the other night, my wife says:

Wife: “Hey…you know, you’re coming up on your year anniversary of your vasectomy.”

Her foreplay sucks.

But, as I looked back, sure enough it’s been just about a year since I had my nuts shaved, ripped open, hacked, cauterized (look! ball-smoke!), and subsequently put on ice.

Me: “Thanks for reminding me.”

For those of you who did NOT go through this fantasmical voyage, I present to you with my first Post-Op article:

“Great Balls of Ice”

As a side note, my wife also mentioned this:

Wife: “You know, I still have the large candy bar from the calendar.”

Ah…“My Icky Sticky Advent Calendar.”

Again, for those of you not with me at the time, one of my requirements post-vasectomy was to self-abuse my Mr. Wiggly, like, 25 times or something before I could go back to have the sperm count checked.

As a side note, I probably could have pulled this off in about two days with the proper lubricant.

To mark this countdown, my wife created a porno-Advent calendar – where after every *sploop* I’d get to eat a mini “3 Musketeers” bar.

At the end, I’d get to eat a FULL SIZED ONE!!

(small things excite me)


Regardless, apparently I never ate the big one (that’s what she said)…and she saved it.

Wife: “It’s kind of like saving the top of a wedding cake and eating it on your one-year anniversary.”

Me: “Yeah..um…except it’s a candy bar, and I don’t really want to celebrate this.”

Damn. She’s twisted.

But, hey! CANDY!!

(again..small things)

Here, in it’s original format, is my post:


“Great Balls of Ice”

In re-reading this, I see that I was planning on sitting down to watch the Red Sox in the World Series. No such luck this year.

Bitch.

Anyway – Enjoy.

*******************


Well, it’s over.

At approximately 11:30 a.m., on October 25, 2007, I took two shots of novacaine to my testicles.

Shortly thereafter, they were cut open, ripped apart, cauterized and then sewed back up. My first and only vasectomy, is officially over.

So…awesome.

(insert sarcasm here).

Right now, I’m sitting here now watching hockey and waiting for the World Series Game 2 to start…with a giant bag of ice on them.

To the guys out there: Guys…it’s nasty.

If you’ve never taken a needle to the nut and are in line for one, GET OUT OF THE LINE NOW.

The needle hurts. It hurt A LOT. Interestingly, it hurt a LOT more in my right nut than my left…I guess Righty is a much more sensitive, caring ball.

The third time I nearly kicked the doctor in the head with my right knee, he started to get perturbed. So, instead of attempting murder-by-kneecap for a fourth time, I decided to suck it up and take it.

Here’s the thing…once they’re numb, the whole procedure took, like, 10 minutes.

The absolutely most disturbing part was the cauterization…seeing smoke coming from your crotch is…well…interesting. I’ve only seen this once – when I accidentally used Ben-Gay instead of KY for masturbating.

The smell of a burning nutsack has turned me off to grilling for a while. I’ll be boiling my bratwurst in water or beer now for a few months, at least.

…all of this happened as my bloody, well-manscaped junk hung out in the open for the doctor and his nurse. I wasn’t expecting the nurse. I was hoping for a lesbian assistant or something…but NO.

Anyway, I’m not sure which part of the following two things that happened was more disturbing:

1) The doctor, upon removing my towel and seeing my shaved crotch, looks at me and says, “Hey…nice job down there!”

?!?!?

Um…thanks?

…or…

2) The doctor and the nurse start a conversation on guys coming into the office all manscaped. They comment on a 22-year old who came in the day before. The nurse looks at the doctor, her face lights up, and she says:

“Wow..he was NICE looking.”

Great. Now I know (KNOW) my little guys are part of some global junk-comparison between patients. I wonder who won the pool on me.

(In the backroom, a nurse checks her square and jumps up yelling, “It’s me! It’s me! I had 5 inches length and 2 inches girth!”)

..ugh…

Anyway, big thanks to everyone for their well-wishes. I’m settling in tonight to watch Game 2 of the World Series (go Sox!) with a partly frozen crotch. I’ll be popping my first Vicoden around 9:30.

Ice in my crotch.

Vicoden.

World Series.

Wife waiting on me hand and foot (thanks, hon!)…

..other than getting my nuts sliced open, not a bad day, really.

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Well…it’s because he asked.

The other day, Narm from “White Collar Redneck” asked – in a comment – to hear more about why I shave my balls.

Um…

Narm is a man.

Narm is a man who wants to read about another man’s pube-free nether-region.

Narm may not actually be a guy.

If he is, he may be THIS guy:


That said, this blog is roughly a year old.

My first nut-shaving post appeared on September 17, 2007.

At the time, I believe I had three readers.

For clarification, I’m including myself in there twice.

So – for all of you who missed it, here is my manscaping post gloriously reposted in High Definition and Surround Sound (Dolby tm).

It has no pictures, so this actually doesn’t mean jack shit.

I hadn’t discovered the joys of mixing “Google Images,” “Microsoft Paint” and “f*cked up imagination” as of yet.

Enjoy.

***********************************

I shaved my nutsack today.

Yep, you read it right.

I shaved my nutsack.

Smooth like a baby’s bum. Except, instead of a bum, it’s a cock and balls.

Now, I know I’m getting three separate reactions out there upon reading this:

1) Guys with hairy junk: WTF, DUDE?!? What’s wrong with you?!?”
2) Guys with smooth junk: “Nice, eh?”
3) Girls: “Have sex with me!”

I can totally understand all three reactions.

The reason I can understand this is because prior to having “smunk” (smooth junk), I had “hunk” (hairy junk), and was proud of it.

Seeing how long you could stretch out one of those short curlies was akin to the people who grow their fingernails to outrageous lengths….I mean, how long can these things grow?

Feet? Yards?

Let’s set a record!

What made hunkage all the more appealing was that these tiny little hairs, all curled up in a ¼ inch bunch, would stretch out to 15 times their normal length…then bounce right back like a slinky to their original shape.

(DISCLAIMER: Kids – do NOT try to walk down stairs, alone or in pairs, using your pubes)

What a wonder of modern science!

All of this growth occurs naturally….no primping, no polishing (well, okay, some polishing), no Miracle-Gro, nothing.

It’s like a chia-pet, except you don’t have to add water.

Plus, with hunkage, you always had that extra bounce factor when having sex…that extra little cushioning that would prevent your actual junk from undo structural or aesthetic damage during the repetition of being beaten, slammed, yanked or pulled…either manually, or with someone.

Think of your pubes as air bags for balls.

I’ve often entertained the idea of going pube-free, but never went through with it.

I’m not completely sure, but it was either the idea of actually taking the full head-on leap into metro-sexuality, or the fear of putting a razor near my dink, that kept me from doing it.

But then came the decision to have a vasectomy, and it made up my mind for me.

Last thought as a side note…the word ‘nutsack’ kept coming up wrong in my Spellchecker.

Am I the only guy who says this?

Friggin’ Word…get with the program.


Captain’s Log:

Literally.

This is about your captain’s log.

You see…

I heard back from my urologist on Wednesday.

After an uncomfortable surgery

…a week of ice on my sack…

(resulting in the disappearance of my testicles at least 5 times a day)

…25 “Mooge ejection” sessions, resulting in…

25 Three Musketeers bars consumed, resulting in…

…eight pounds gained…

…and TWO Mooge donations


…the verdict is FINALLY in:

The Bullets have Left the Chamber.

My Flying Elvis’ have Left the Airplane.


My Pool is Full of Dead Swimmers.


My CIA Intelligence is Less than Accurate.

My Little Saddam Hussein is out of Weapons of Mass Destruction.

Scarlett Johanssen is f*cking HOT.

(FINE..FINE…this last one has nothing to do with my Mooge analogy…but thought I’d throw it out there)

Cancel my face-off with Billy the Kid…

I’m officially shooting blanks.

(cut to a scene where I’m alone in the house…watching “Gilmore Girls”…)

Me: “I’m gonna Mooge!

..then..just a…

*FOOF*


Yep…as Michael Jordan would say:

Nothing but net.

(please note that the use of “net” in the above analogy means “fluid erupting from penis containing only semen and no live sperm, which are still trapped and/or dead in my balls.“)


As you know, my first donation came back negative.

However, as noted, a SECOND..um..”sample”…ALSO needed to come back negative.


The second negative was needed in order for my urologist (scientific name for “Doctor Who Looks at Winkies”) to proclaim that my tiny little wiggly was no longer a danger to those who could reproduce.

Without this proclamation, it was entirely possible for my wiggly to detach…

…and roam the streets in the dead of night…

…free to claim any and all victims who were foolish enough to believe that he was “just selling insurance.”

(this explains the tally marks I wake up to find marked on my scrotum)


Anyway…

The call came in on Thursday.

The nurse said I’m “free and clear.”

Free.

Clear.

(actually, it’s not so much “clear” anymore as it is “less cloudy”)


I’m told that what happens now is that my little swimmers are still there…itching for a fight…ready to go.

However, when it’s “GO TIME,” they shoot out the pipe as they normally would…

…but then…

DEAD END.


Leader Sperm (looking at the “Police Line – DO NOT CROSS” tape in my balls)
: “What the…?”


So they stay there…together…

…waiting to die.

I’m wondering if it looks like that scene in the movie “ALIVE!”

…about the rugby team that crashed in the Andes…

…and were forced to eat each other to survive.


Except, in this movie, it’s not in the Andes…but, rather, in the testes.

Which begs the question:

If sperm try to eat each other…do they spit or swallow?

But I digress…

Anyway…

I’m really looking forward to the catfight between my beautiful wife and Scarlett.

It should be goooooood.

I hope my wiggly can make it.

..but he’ll probably be out on the party scene…

…selling insurance.

He’s such a prick.