So I was watchin’ this show the other day. Seems some gal’s old dog was laying on the warm porch for too long and when he tried to get up he discovered that his ball sack had got stuck to a plank.
He’d tug and tug and you could see that ball sack just stretch and stretch and it kinda freaked me out because I was scared that all of a sudden it was going to snap and that poor dog would go flyin’ off the end of the porch like an A6 off an aircraft carrier.
This guy was tryin’ to help and finally asked the girl for a spatula, the kind you flip eggs over easy with, and they were able to kinda sniggle that spatula between the canine’s huevos porcheros and the pine plank and finally free Old Blue from his predicament. This understandably made the dog happy.
Now unfortunately, I’ve found myself to be frequently reminded of the dog’s plight as of late whilst here at work. It seems that the chairs they provide us with are not scrotally ergometric. You see, the arms are just too close together and If you’ve been sitting for awhile, which I often have cause to be, the sides of your scroat apparently have the means by which they can attach themselves to the inner thigh of your legs. It’s almost like having two tenacious pads of Postit Notes on either side of Mister Happy.
I guess if I were to think about it beforehand, I could probably reach down there and jiggle things free on a periodic basis. I do have a private office.
But usually I’ve already made it out into the hall before I notice that my genital anchors have a firm grasp of my inner thighs and I’m quite loathe to reach down and tug 'em free for fear that someone’s gone think I’m entertaining myself.
Now I’ve already tried a couple of homespun remedies to rectify this situation. I slathered my scrotular area up good with an ointment before, hoping that would keep them “ice-free in the ol’ northern port” but it didn’t seem to work all that well. I think it was Brylcreem I used and all it managed to do was stain my skivvies to a darker hue.
Concerned but not desperate, the next time I liberally applied baby powder to the area of consternation. Problem with that was that by the end of the day, my once pristine wingtips then looked like snowshoes.
So I’m still at a loss. We can put a man on the moon but we can’t keep a scroat off it. Does anybody else share my plight and if so, pray tell, can you suggest a remedy for this dedgum Postit Scroat Disorder?
Needless to say, I now have to ask him if he’s powdered the biscuits before we get too intimate! Good luck in your search for the cure, lieu!