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Balls Out (H/T Kballs)

By Tater Barley Banks | Comment Diversions | December 5, 2009 | Comments ()

By Tater Barley Banks | Comment Diversions | December 5, 2009 |


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My fellow Jibs and Jiblettes, I have a favor to ask of you.

JIBS: Stick your hand down the front of your pants.

JIBLETTES: Stick your hand down the front of your boyfriend's/husband's pants.

(You lesbians are excused from this exercise, but you're welcome to stick your hands down your pants or your GF's pants if you like, just for the fun of it.)

Now: Gently juggle the jewels. Everything nice and soft and pliable in there? No lumps or bumps? Good.

Cause if there are, get thy ass to your doctor, please.

I have a lump. A hard one. My GP was not happy with what he felt when he slipped on the glove and did some jostling. Started telling me how it's an "extremely curable" cancer. So I figure I know what that means. I'm writing this Thursday and tomorrow (Friday, now yesterday) I'm going to get scanned to, in all likelihood, confirm this and set up a date to have it ... dealt with.

My hope, of course, is that the worst thing that comes out of this is that people will call me One-Nut for the rest of my life. I'm not too bothered by that prospect. We've seen right here in our own little corner of the Interwebs how much worse things could be. We just celebrated Paheeba Day in honor of the amazing Amanda Amos, and you wouldn't see me mustering the strength and courage and good humor to put up with what she had to put up with. Not me, I'd be whining and sobbing like a little girl the whole way.

On top of that, earlier this week a woman I used to work with, who was tough and funny and a first-rate reporter and who I was probably just a teeny bit in love with, died of lung cancer after fighting it three years. She was 48.

One-Nut? That's easy.

But still, this is nothing to mess around with. I would like all of you snarky, bitchy, wonderful bastards to be happy in your pants, live to 99 and die peacefully in your beds, shot to death by jealous spouses.

So ... dig down there and check 'em out, for your own good.

Oh, as for the actual diversion, feel free to relate your medical histories, brushes with death, gruesome physical deformities etc. (Obviously, Skitz is excused from this exercise ... unless there's something he's not telling us.)

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

TATER BARLEY BANKS is not to be trusted. He probably makes up everything he writes about himself, especially the stuff about living in West Virginia. Don't be fooled. In truth, he lives in Pajibaland, where he speaks gibberish as , (TCFKAB), spends his time sitting on a park bench, eyeing little girls with bad intent, and is developing a 25-letter alphabet, now that his key doesn't work. He has no blog, no Facebook page and no MySpace page, so don't try to find him. If you're so inclined, you can email Tater.


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