I still have some random ideas on scraps of paper left over from my trip back to Ohio, so in an effort to empty my mental in-box, as well as clean off my desk, I thought I’d
spill them out all over you today construct another informative “Odd Bits” post.
The Deferens Rests
I may be the oddest friend ever. You know how sometimes when old buddies get together; they come up with some kind of group bonding activity? Like getting tattoos, or taking a road trip, or building some kind of large leisure equipment? Guess what I suggested.
Bluz: Hey have you guys ever thought about getting vasectomies? What if we all went and got vasectomies together?
Um, you go ahead… We’re good right here.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. I’ve looked up some reputable snippers on line, talked to some people that have had it done, and practiced saying “vas deferens…” Still, I don’t react well to even the thought of something happening to The Boys. (Or as nephew Sammy would say:
My dad had it done ages ago when we were still very young, probably right after going Christmas shopping for his three kids. He told me they had to put the anesthetic needle right smack into the ballular material. The mere thought of that made me drop to the floor and curl up like a boiled shrimp.
I figure that surely the state of medicine has advanced enough that such drastic measures would no longer be needed. At work, I spoke with someone that just had it done last year and asked about how they numb it. (And no, they don’t have a nurse go down there and go “num num num num…”)
Unfortunately, he told me, they still stick the needle straight into the nards. Next thing you know, I’m all…
Then as I banged my head on the underside of the desk and the world swam in and out of focus, I realized it might be better if they just put me under general anesthesia.
But back to my buddies... I figured if I could get some fraternal support going, I might be able to go through with the whole long, hard ordeal.
One of them had a perfect alibi… his wife has already had a hysterectomy. As long as he was a good boy, he had no worries.
But the other one… my buddy Rik… Shit, he ought to be the Poster Boy for vasectomy. When you look up “cocksman” in the dictionary, they show you his picture. He should have jumped at the opportunity to no longer risk being Rikky Appleseed.
Aside from spawning all over town, Rik’s other obsession is hitting a major lottery. He has it all worked out. First he’d set up his kids. Then John and I can quit our jobs and become his posse. John will be in charge of arranging hunting and fishing trips, and supervising the grill. My job would be organizing the schedule and acquiring tickets for all the major sporting events. (It’s funny how many things you can get tickets for once money is no object.)
We would both take turns in handling money requests from charities and estranged family members. Call it the Dr. No detail.
I also suggested that Rik appoint me as his biographer. Dude has lived more sex stories than I could ever conceive of. In fact, as we were driving to Cincinnati, he reminded us of the time he took part in a “9-way.”
Yes, you read that right… a “9-way.” It was an intimate crowd consisting of him, his buddy, and 7 girls. See, THIS is why he should have went for the vasectomy idea… This kind of shit just doesn’t happen to regular people. This isn’t real life, it’s Hef’s softball team.
He and the other guy had to have rules though… they had to stay within sight of each other at all times, so that nothing accidentally got slipped somewhere it wasn’t supposed to go.
Personally, I’d find it counter-productive to see some sweaty, hairy guy going at it five feet away from me… I’d have to come up with another way of detecting unsafe proximity… perhaps wearing bells, like the ones people put on their cats to warn the birds. I know it would probably sound like Santa was coming… Someone would be, that’s for sure…
Anyway, once you throw a zillion dollars into the mix, you know the stories would be legendary and they’d need to be documented. I even have the title picked out: “Memoirs of a Feral Bachelor”.
Of course, at that point I’d have to insist that he get the vasectomy. With that kind of cash in the balance, he’d be hearing from paternity lawyers like they were Jehovah’s Witnesses. He’d need his own express window at the DNA Lab and a Frequent Boner Card.
With that in mind, I’ll leave you with the words of Chicago comic, “Uncle’ Larry Reeb:
“I don’t have any kids, I got a vasectomy. It happened on a Saturday at Toys R Us. All these kids were running around screaming, I took out the pocketknife, did it myself. You ever been to Toys R Us on a Saturday? They ought to have a bar at Toys R Us.”