my dad didnt like the beginning of my newest opus
the one that starts
"fuck stink wafts
my balls humm"

he didnt get the full presentation
with the dramatic pauses

i was reciting it up the steps and around a corner and over the tv in the other room that my mom was watching
i think he didnt hear the word "waft" clearly
i had to repeat it
and mom was talking to him too

portrait of an artist at home sharing his bounty with the fam

he also had stylistic issues with the profanity in the beginning
you cant begin with the word fuck
what do english professors know about style anyway?
this aint the community college, old man

i told him that out mutual writer friend liked it
cracked up even
said good things about the "economy of words"
my dad thinks shes tring to get an edge
in the writing SLAM
for the money
thinks shes seeking a competitve advantage
i dont think shes like that
but now the opus lies in danger of purgatory
unfinished
floating out there
does the world really need to hear about my humming balls?
i thought so,
once
but now i wonder
are my balls that important?
do i need to immortalize my balls in yet another epic poem?
or should my balls go un-remarked upon in the history of the internet?
i had the biggest balls on the bus
in england
on a rugby tour
someone decided we all had to get naked
you couldnt stay clothed in the afterglow of such an important rugby victory as the one we had all just participated in
teh one ive forgotten the details of
that would never do
but it seemed kinda gay to me
so i had to take measures
i noticed (in a non homo way)that the dude across the aisle from me had a wee lil ball sack
so i did some research
waving my balls around like a huge bass id just caught or something
weiner in my hidden under the fingers of my hand of course
it was about the balls, not the wang
to compare wangs would be gay
balls are fun
so i shook them in the other players faces as i walked the aisle
the smart ones stood up
many shrank away
cringing windoward
and saying things like "get the fuck away from me you homo"like i was the embodiement of their beastly uncle
or a too friendly priest
the ones who understood said things like
"mann those are some big balls you got there"
or
"another great victory for you dude, you are truly unbeatable, a real force of nature"
and the more i waved
them around the more i knew that i was making these other dudes way more uncomfortable than i had initially felt with my nudity
each ball comparision
was a referendum
a minor victory in a life full of disappointment,
degradation and drinking
the three D's defining my life
add dorkishness
a dash of depravity
and my disgust
and you and have the recipe for my delicious 6d bollock stew
can i have some more balls ma?
so does the world need to hear more about my balls?
you are goddamned sraight
the world need a second helping of my balls
thats why im starting a book called 89 adventures with my ballsack
only 88 more to go
then i can collect the nobel prize for literature
and the pulitzer goes to...
harrys tales of scrotal glory
id like to thank my mom and dad for having me
and id like a moment of silence for all the dead soldiers
the guys who didnt make it
the ones who were just doing their duty
swimming and swimming with no ovary in sight
or worse
dessicated in a sock on the floor
because without the little guys there would be no reason for me to have such huge and storied balls
such dramatic balls
such legendary balls
without all the billions of dead sperm
haunting my nightmare every halloween
like scrooge in october
i am tormented
billions and billions of little costumed trick or treatering sperm circling my head
trying to fertilize my eyes
forcing me to make sure their lives were not spent in vain
if it wasnt for all those little spermatoazoan ghosts and pirates and zombies and naughty nurses
yeah
naughty nurses
o yeah
o yeah
oh shit
more dead on the horizon
oh the humanity