Got any confirmed sightings? Be a pal and email them to me, here.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
More confirmed sightings
Look at that, in the staff picks and on the front counter. Go you good thing...
Got any confirmed sightings? Be a pal and email them to me, here.
Got any confirmed sightings? Be a pal and email them to me, here.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Odds 'n' Ends
A few things I have collected but hadn't had the time to put up. One a shot with Tim Webster from 2UE, the others some other blogs who wrote about the Charity Bookshop.
Book Launch: The Aftermath
Well I think I've just woken up after a week trying to catch my eyelids. All I can say is that the launch was one of the best nights I've had in a long time and I thank you all for being a part of it. From what I hear everyone had a top time too. Notable moments were my Dad requesting me write another book because he had so much fun, Sarah McCarthy going home and reading the book by midnight and the venue liking the Skinny Blonde beer so much that they asked for the details to buy it in next time. A big round of applause to Ian Olver and Paul Wilson too who I think you'll agree were funny, poignant and brief all at the same time. Exactly the three things you want out of a speech.
We went through all of Berkelouw's stock of books plus two more boxes from the boot of my car and all the beer. That's right, nine cases. And to think the Berkelouw people laughed at me when I brought in four. Ha, they didn't know what you fine thirsty folk are capable of.
Ben Ando took the prize of book number one with his rather impressive eyewatering Testicle Tale, Twister. It was a unanimous crowd vote. Onya Benny. Runners up were Ben Still for Wuxi Finger and Josh Bryer for Boardshorts.
Probably the most interesting statistic of the night (or maybe it's just me) is that we sold more books than there were people in attendance. Hey that's pretty impressive. So in the spirit of meaning everything I said on the night, I have just one word for you: Gratitude.
Now, where to next? Well this is where the real Guerilla Marketing starts. We have a few ideas for how to get this book noticed and out in the hands of the good people of the world. For what, you'll just have to stay tuned...
We went through all of Berkelouw's stock of books plus two more boxes from the boot of my car and all the beer. That's right, nine cases. And to think the Berkelouw people laughed at me when I brought in four. Ha, they didn't know what you fine thirsty folk are capable of.
Ben Ando took the prize of book number one with his rather impressive eyewatering Testicle Tale, Twister. It was a unanimous crowd vote. Onya Benny. Runners up were Ben Still for Wuxi Finger and Josh Bryer for Boardshorts.
Probably the most interesting statistic of the night (or maybe it's just me) is that we sold more books than there were people in attendance. Hey that's pretty impressive. So in the spirit of meaning everything I said on the night, I have just one word for you: Gratitude.
Now, where to next? Well this is where the real Guerilla Marketing starts. We have a few ideas for how to get this book noticed and out in the hands of the good people of the world. For what, you'll just have to stay tuned...
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Book Launch Uberthanks
Is there such a thing as an uberthanks? Is now. An uberthanks to everyone who braved a rainy chilly night to make the warmest of welcomes to my firstborn into the world at tonight's launch. It was like looking at all the jigsaw pieces of my life come together in one room and you were fantastic for being there. I had a ball (excuse the pun) and hope you did too. We went through all the beer and the auxillary stash too.
The people at Berkelouw said that's the by far most drinks they've ever done at a launch and also the most books they've sold. They said they are suspicious there might be a strong correlation too. I hope no one regrets their pickup in the morning.
As I was madly signing away some of you came up with piles of 6 clutched in your paws. That's amazing support I hope everyone you give them to enjoys them cover to cover. My Mum bought another seven. I swear she now owns a baker's dozen herself.
It's late now so I'll put the photos up tomorrow. If you have some, please send 'em over and I'll whack them up too.
Oh yeah, did I say uberthanks?
The people at Berkelouw said that's the by far most drinks they've ever done at a launch and also the most books they've sold. They said they are suspicious there might be a strong correlation too. I hope no one regrets their pickup in the morning.
As I was madly signing away some of you came up with piles of 6 clutched in your paws. That's amazing support I hope everyone you give them to enjoys them cover to cover. My Mum bought another seven. I swear she now owns a baker's dozen herself.
It's late now so I'll put the photos up tomorrow. If you have some, please send 'em over and I'll whack them up too.
Oh yeah, did I say uberthanks?
Monday, May 18, 2009
Reminder: Launch this Wed 20th
Hey ho, just thought it be worth reminder all you fine readers that the book launch is at Berkelouw this Wednesday night.
Paul Wilson, author of the best selling Little Book of Calm will be speaking as will the esteemed Professor Ian Olver, CEO of the Cancer Council.
Music is by Jimmy James Blow, frontman of NSW MTV Kickstart winners The Mischief. And then of course there's the headline event, the giveaway of Book #1 to the most eyewatering Testicle Tale, all of which can be read down below on this very blog. If you haven't sent one in, there's still time, just click right here.
6:30pm at Berkelouw Books, 70 Norton Street Leichhardt. Beer, wine and all that. See you there!
Paul Wilson, author of the best selling Little Book of Calm will be speaking as will the esteemed Professor Ian Olver, CEO of the Cancer Council.
Music is by Jimmy James Blow, frontman of NSW MTV Kickstart winners The Mischief. And then of course there's the headline event, the giveaway of Book #1 to the most eyewatering Testicle Tale, all of which can be read down below on this very blog. If you haven't sent one in, there's still time, just click right here.
6:30pm at Berkelouw Books, 70 Norton Street Leichhardt. Beer, wine and all that. See you there!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Jimmy James' Testicle Tale
In high school, my older brother and I collected basketball cards. But the story gets better.
At the time, high school kids thought they were much more valuable than they actually were, and one kid even offered to trade a high powered and illegal BB gun for my brother's New York Knicks team card. So with a BB gun in the house, but no targets, we took turns shooting each other at opposite ends of the corridor.
When I got tired of body shots, I decided it would be a good idea to shoot my brother in the crotch. Moments later, I shot my brother in the crotch. He keeled over writhing in pain. I'd never seen him cry like that before. It said it was a an accident, but it was more of a small victory for me.
Days later, everything seemed back to normal, but please imagine the precision of my aim though, considering my brother was already born without his left testicle.
At the time, high school kids thought they were much more valuable than they actually were, and one kid even offered to trade a high powered and illegal BB gun for my brother's New York Knicks team card. So with a BB gun in the house, but no targets, we took turns shooting each other at opposite ends of the corridor.
When I got tired of body shots, I decided it would be a good idea to shoot my brother in the crotch. Moments later, I shot my brother in the crotch. He keeled over writhing in pain. I'd never seen him cry like that before. It said it was a an accident, but it was more of a small victory for me.
Days later, everything seemed back to normal, but please imagine the precision of my aim though, considering my brother was already born without his left testicle.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Joke of the day from Zac
What's the difference between snowmen and snowwomen?
Snowballs.
Zac also pointed out this rather impressive testicle tale right here: http://iwanttobeapharmacist.blogspot.com/2007/09/how-i-lost-i-almost-lost-testicle.html
Snowballs.
Zac also pointed out this rather impressive testicle tale right here: http://iwanttobeapharmacist.blogspot.com/2007/09/how-i-lost-i-almost-lost-testicle.html
More Charity Bookshop photos
Big up the thanks to Mr Luc Remond who dropped in today and gave the bookshop-gallery the Hasselblad treatment again, this time by daylight. See more of the maestro's handiwork here.
I must say I feel a bit of a tool posing for photos like this but it is to get the book out there and raise money for the Cancer Council so what the heck.
I must say I feel a bit of a tool posing for photos like this but it is to get the book out there and raise money for the Cancer Council so what the heck.
Guerilla Marketing Tactic #3: Open your own bookshop
So, it's in Dymocks, Arial, Angus & Robertson, Berkelouw and you can get it online here, here and here but a few people have commented that they went to Borders in Bondi and couldn't find the book. Bummer I say, but what can I do? Tell you what: open a bookshop where we all know there are plenty of copies available.
So here it is, Ben's Charity Bookshop.
The idea is pretty simple. From now until May 20 you can drop in to 374 Crown Street, Surry Hills and check out a shop that sells nothing but my book, Lessons from my Left Testicle. That's right, all the walls are covered, it's in the windows, hanging from drip stands and scattered across the hospital bed that's sitting plum in the middle.
And, best yet, author's cut of every book sold from the shop goes to the Cancer Council. So it's for a good cause too.
Big thanks to Luc Remond for the photos.
So here it is, Ben's Charity Bookshop.
The idea is pretty simple. From now until May 20 you can drop in to 374 Crown Street, Surry Hills and check out a shop that sells nothing but my book, Lessons from my Left Testicle. That's right, all the walls are covered, it's in the windows, hanging from drip stands and scattered across the hospital bed that's sitting plum in the middle.
And, best yet, author's cut of every book sold from the shop goes to the Cancer Council. So it's for a good cause too.
Big thanks to Luc Remond for the photos.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tim's Testicle Tale
During high school, I had the pleasure in one class of sitting at a shared table with a guy who combined my two most favorite qualities - wittiness and laziness. No matter what someone said, his snarky reply included a reference to his left nut. Lines such as "that's as funny as my left nut" and "that's as smart as my left nut" became recurring contributions to the daily discourse. One day, while wearing the now completely unfashionable too-short shorts of the time, he was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped against the table. The teacher came over and asked rather politely to put his feet on the ground. Before he began the process, I turned my head and was confronted with the reason - there was brain on display. He quickly realised the situation and promptly brought his feet to the ground.
While his embarrassment still lingered in the air, I muttered "Well, now that we've seen it I guess we can all compare things to your left nut." He never uttered the phrase again.
While his embarrassment still lingered in the air, I muttered "Well, now that we've seen it I guess we can all compare things to your left nut." He never uttered the phrase again.
Buy My Birthday
Eran Thomson is a fellow cancer survivor who has a fat brain. He puts it to use coming up with clever ideas for preparetolive.org, a charity he founded to support young adults with cancer.
His latest fat brain idea is the fattest of them all. He has found a young lady who is auctioning off her birthday on ebay.
The winning bidder gets all the presents, the night out, the dinners, the drink, the hugs kisses and birthday cards. In fact, all the fun of having a birthday without the annoyance of getting a year older.
Ready to bid? It's right here: http://cgi.ebay.com/Buy-My-39th-Birthday_W0QQitemZ180348706528
His latest fat brain idea is the fattest of them all. He has found a young lady who is auctioning off her birthday on ebay.
The winning bidder gets all the presents, the night out, the dinners, the drink, the hugs kisses and birthday cards. In fact, all the fun of having a birthday without the annoyance of getting a year older.
Ready to bid? It's right here: http://cgi.ebay.com/Buy-My-39th-Birthday_W0QQitemZ180348706528
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
A moment's silence please
Today at 12 o'clock, while I was out talking to media about how I survived cancer, my friend Liz Montgomery died from it. She was 37 and leaves behind a husband and two young kids.
It is a strange irony she was the first person I told, after Annabelle, when I was diagnosed. We were working together at JWT, see. Liz was one of those super friendly, super kind people, I really enjoyed working with her. She was really enthusiastic about life and enjoying it. And all through the cancer she kept her humour and cool. I think some people call it dignity.
For anyone who knew her too, the funeral is Friday 15 May, 11am at Walter Carter Bondi Junction.
Just a reminder that, sadly, cancer isn't all free beer and ball jokes.
It is a strange irony she was the first person I told, after Annabelle, when I was diagnosed. We were working together at JWT, see. Liz was one of those super friendly, super kind people, I really enjoyed working with her. She was really enthusiastic about life and enjoying it. And all through the cancer she kept her humour and cool. I think some people call it dignity.
For anyone who knew her too, the funeral is Friday 15 May, 11am at Walter Carter Bondi Junction.
Just a reminder that, sadly, cancer isn't all free beer and ball jokes.
Monday, May 11, 2009
2UE with Tim Webster
Hey hey looks like my interview with Tim Webster today made it to the 2UE homepage. 'Station highlights' no less.
You can listen to the interview by clicking here.
You can listen to the interview by clicking here.
Ben Still's Testicle Tales
Not one but three testicle tales from Ben Still. Now there's a man who's looking for a free book.
1. The Wuxi Finger
One of the things I’ve learnt since the little people moved in to our house (aka having kids) is how much better a movie or book can become the more times you watch it. Like a good wine, it becomes better over time. You might think you got it the first time, but it is only when you’ve watched a movie more than 10 times that you start to gain real insights. Once you hit 50 you ascend to another plane- you are at one with the movie director.
And so it is with that modern cinema classic, Kung Fu Panda. I hit the magic 50 a while back. I don’t want to ruin it if you haven’t already seen it, but in the final scene the Panda kills the baddie Tailung. He does it with a mystical Kung Fu move called the Wuxi Finger (pronounced “wuu shee fingAAR”). It involves pinching with your thumb and index finger, then lifting your little finger. Part of any good movie experience is acting out random scenes – again this is where watching it a few times helps. For my little people this involves lots of screaming, running, jumping and kicking; as well as the inevitable Wuxi Finger.
At this point I must disclose that I am a regular Lycra wearer. I ride to and from work on my bike. I arrive home and there is a thunderous stampede of little people coming to greet me. At first this involved a hug, but recently there has been a new development. A little hand will reach around and give Dad a bit of a Wuxi Finger tweak between the legs. Anything that can cause a yelp like that from an adult is pretty interesting to your young Kung Fu enthusiast, so from that point it was pretty much game on. Now coming home after work involves me creeping in ninja style, and getting changed as quickly as I can before I fall victim again to the fearsome Wuxi Finger.
2. Too much gel
I was talking to one of my cycling buddies (let’s call him “Lance”) about my friend Ben, who is celebrating the release of his book. I’d just read the Chapter 1 preview, which was pretty interesting. It turns out Lance is one of those guys that sit in the dark room analysing the ultrasounds, just like in Ben’s book. I told him Ben’s squeamish “hair gel on the balls” experience, and asked if this was a regular reaction.
Lance told me how one of the clinics that he had worked at was visited by a Medicare fraud investigator. He was investigating why this clinic had done over 40 procedures for the same patient over a few months.
It turns out that this patient had had 40 of the same procedure – an ultrasound of the testicles with that gel that Ben had enjoyed so much.
3. Orange peel
Lance then went on to tell me another story of his days behind the ultrasound screen. One patient was complaining of sore testicles, so he was booked in for the gel and ultrasound. The ultrasound scan was pretty alarming – so Lance asked the patient what on earth he had done.
Turns out this guy was getting some swelling of his testicles. Apparently this can happen after a strain. Similar to tendonitis in the elbow or knee, the testicles swell with fluid as the body tries to sort things out.
This guy decided to take matters into his own hands. Being someone who has unsuccessfully defrosted a fridge with a power drill, I can completely understand. He decided to take a needle and see if he could let some fluid out. But the wall of the testicles is quite tough – according to Lance it is similar to an orange peel. The patient told Lance he had tried for a while with the needle without luck, and then decided to push a little bit harder. Being a lateral thinker, he realised pushing alone was not going to do it, so he tried a soft tap with a hammer.
Lance wasn’t sure if this actually resulted in any of the fluid coming out, but it did result in the needle going all the way in. And staying in. Amazingly, he’d missed all the vital bits, and had somehow navigated his needle around them. The actual entry hole had healed over, so Lance asked the patient how long ago this was. Turns out this guy had been toughing things out for over a year, and it was only a visit up to Sydney that prompted the scan.
1. The Wuxi Finger
One of the things I’ve learnt since the little people moved in to our house (aka having kids) is how much better a movie or book can become the more times you watch it. Like a good wine, it becomes better over time. You might think you got it the first time, but it is only when you’ve watched a movie more than 10 times that you start to gain real insights. Once you hit 50 you ascend to another plane- you are at one with the movie director.
And so it is with that modern cinema classic, Kung Fu Panda. I hit the magic 50 a while back. I don’t want to ruin it if you haven’t already seen it, but in the final scene the Panda kills the baddie Tailung. He does it with a mystical Kung Fu move called the Wuxi Finger (pronounced “wuu shee fingAAR”). It involves pinching with your thumb and index finger, then lifting your little finger. Part of any good movie experience is acting out random scenes – again this is where watching it a few times helps. For my little people this involves lots of screaming, running, jumping and kicking; as well as the inevitable Wuxi Finger.
At this point I must disclose that I am a regular Lycra wearer. I ride to and from work on my bike. I arrive home and there is a thunderous stampede of little people coming to greet me. At first this involved a hug, but recently there has been a new development. A little hand will reach around and give Dad a bit of a Wuxi Finger tweak between the legs. Anything that can cause a yelp like that from an adult is pretty interesting to your young Kung Fu enthusiast, so from that point it was pretty much game on. Now coming home after work involves me creeping in ninja style, and getting changed as quickly as I can before I fall victim again to the fearsome Wuxi Finger.
2. Too much gel
I was talking to one of my cycling buddies (let’s call him “Lance”) about my friend Ben, who is celebrating the release of his book. I’d just read the Chapter 1 preview, which was pretty interesting. It turns out Lance is one of those guys that sit in the dark room analysing the ultrasounds, just like in Ben’s book. I told him Ben’s squeamish “hair gel on the balls” experience, and asked if this was a regular reaction.
Lance told me how one of the clinics that he had worked at was visited by a Medicare fraud investigator. He was investigating why this clinic had done over 40 procedures for the same patient over a few months.
It turns out that this patient had had 40 of the same procedure – an ultrasound of the testicles with that gel that Ben had enjoyed so much.
3. Orange peel
Lance then went on to tell me another story of his days behind the ultrasound screen. One patient was complaining of sore testicles, so he was booked in for the gel and ultrasound. The ultrasound scan was pretty alarming – so Lance asked the patient what on earth he had done.
Turns out this guy was getting some swelling of his testicles. Apparently this can happen after a strain. Similar to tendonitis in the elbow or knee, the testicles swell with fluid as the body tries to sort things out.
This guy decided to take matters into his own hands. Being someone who has unsuccessfully defrosted a fridge with a power drill, I can completely understand. He decided to take a needle and see if he could let some fluid out. But the wall of the testicles is quite tough – according to Lance it is similar to an orange peel. The patient told Lance he had tried for a while with the needle without luck, and then decided to push a little bit harder. Being a lateral thinker, he realised pushing alone was not going to do it, so he tried a soft tap with a hammer.
Lance wasn’t sure if this actually resulted in any of the fluid coming out, but it did result in the needle going all the way in. And staying in. Amazingly, he’d missed all the vital bits, and had somehow navigated his needle around them. The actual entry hole had healed over, so Lance asked the patient how long ago this was. Turns out this guy had been toughing things out for over a year, and it was only a visit up to Sydney that prompted the scan.
One more news story
Anonymously sent this time. find the original here.
A JILTED woman who ripped off her ex-lover’s testicle with her bare hands was today jailed for two and a half years.
Amanda Monti, 24, flew into a rage when 37-year-old Geoffrey Jones rejected her advances at the end of a drunken house party.
She yanked off his left testicle and tried to swallow it, Liverpool Crown Court heard.
But Monti choked and spat it out before a friend handed it back to her former lover with the words: "That's yours."
In a statement read to the court, Geoffrey said: "Amanda attacked me in an unprovoked manner and the attack has ruined my life."
He added: "I cannot begin to describe the pain I’ve suffered."
Monti, from Birkenhead, Mersyeside, pleaded guilty to wounding.
Doctors were unable to re-attach the organ, and the court heard that Geoffrey, a bodybuilder, is so embarrassed by what happened he is planning to move house.
He ended his long-term relationship with Monti, who is 5ft 1in tall, towards the end of May last year.
In a letter to the court, Monti said she was sorry for what she had done.
She added: "I am in no way a violent person.
"I have challenged myself to explain what has happened but still I just cannot remember. This has caused much anguish to me and will do for the rest of my life."
A JILTED woman who ripped off her ex-lover’s testicle with her bare hands was today jailed for two and a half years.
Amanda Monti, 24, flew into a rage when 37-year-old Geoffrey Jones rejected her advances at the end of a drunken house party.
She yanked off his left testicle and tried to swallow it, Liverpool Crown Court heard.
But Monti choked and spat it out before a friend handed it back to her former lover with the words: "That's yours."
In a statement read to the court, Geoffrey said: "Amanda attacked me in an unprovoked manner and the attack has ruined my life."
He added: "I cannot begin to describe the pain I’ve suffered."
Monti, from Birkenhead, Mersyeside, pleaded guilty to wounding.
Doctors were unable to re-attach the organ, and the court heard that Geoffrey, a bodybuilder, is so embarrassed by what happened he is planning to move house.
He ended his long-term relationship with Monti, who is 5ft 1in tall, towards the end of May last year.
In a letter to the court, Monti said she was sorry for what she had done.
She added: "I am in no way a violent person.
"I have challenged myself to explain what has happened but still I just cannot remember. This has caused much anguish to me and will do for the rest of my life."
One more from Barry Crocker
This time from the illustrious Darwin Awards.
One morning I was called to the emergency room by the head ER nurse. She directed me to a patient who had refused to describe his problem other then to say that he "needed a doctor who took care of men's troubles." The patient, about 40, was pale, febrile, and obviously uncomfortable, and had little to say as he gingerly opened his trousers to expose a bit of angry red and black-and-blue scrotal skin.
After I asked the nurse to leave us, the patient permitted me to remove his trousers, shorts, and two or three yards of foul-smelling, stained gauze wrapped about his scrotum, which was swollen to twice the size of a grapefruit and extremely tender. A jagged zig-zag laceration, oozing pus and blood, extended down the left scrotum.
Amid the matted hair, edematous skin, and various exudates, I saw some half-buried dark linear objects and asked the patient what they were. Several days earlier, he replied, he had injured himself in the machine shop where he worked, and had closed the laceration himself with a heavy-duty stapling gun. The dark objects were one-inch staples of the type used in putting up wallboard.
We x-rayed the patients scrotum to locate the staples; admitting him to the hospital; and gave him tetanus antitoxin, a broad-spectrum antibacterial therapy, and hexachlorophene sitz baths prior to surgery the next morning.
The procedure consisted of exploration and debridement of the left side of the scrotal pouch. Eight rusty staples were retrieved, and the skin edges were trimmed and freshened. The left testis had been avulsed and was missing. The stump of the spermatic cord was recovered at the inguinal canal, debrided, and the vessels ligated properly, though not much of a hematoma was present. Through-and through Penrose drains were sutured loosely in site, and the skin was loosely closed.
Convalescence was uneventful, and before his release from the hospital less then a week later, the patient confided the rest of his story to me.
An unmarried loner, he usually didn't leave the machine shop at lunchtime with his co-workers. Finding himself alone, he had begun the regular practice of masturbating by holding his penis against the canvas drive-belt of a large floor-based piece of running machinery. One day, as he approached orgasm, he lost his concentration and leaned too close to the belt. When his scrotum suddenly became caught between the pulley-wheel and the drive-belt, he was thrown into the air and landed a few feet away. Unaware that he had lost his left testis, and perhaps too stunned to feel much pain, he stapled the wound closed and resumed work.
I can only assume he abandoned this method of self-gratification.
By Dr. William A. Morton, Jr. MD, a retired urologist residing in West Chester, Pennsylvania.
One morning I was called to the emergency room by the head ER nurse. She directed me to a patient who had refused to describe his problem other then to say that he "needed a doctor who took care of men's troubles." The patient, about 40, was pale, febrile, and obviously uncomfortable, and had little to say as he gingerly opened his trousers to expose a bit of angry red and black-and-blue scrotal skin.
After I asked the nurse to leave us, the patient permitted me to remove his trousers, shorts, and two or three yards of foul-smelling, stained gauze wrapped about his scrotum, which was swollen to twice the size of a grapefruit and extremely tender. A jagged zig-zag laceration, oozing pus and blood, extended down the left scrotum.
Amid the matted hair, edematous skin, and various exudates, I saw some half-buried dark linear objects and asked the patient what they were. Several days earlier, he replied, he had injured himself in the machine shop where he worked, and had closed the laceration himself with a heavy-duty stapling gun. The dark objects were one-inch staples of the type used in putting up wallboard.
We x-rayed the patients scrotum to locate the staples; admitting him to the hospital; and gave him tetanus antitoxin, a broad-spectrum antibacterial therapy, and hexachlorophene sitz baths prior to surgery the next morning.
The procedure consisted of exploration and debridement of the left side of the scrotal pouch. Eight rusty staples were retrieved, and the skin edges were trimmed and freshened. The left testis had been avulsed and was missing. The stump of the spermatic cord was recovered at the inguinal canal, debrided, and the vessels ligated properly, though not much of a hematoma was present. Through-and through Penrose drains were sutured loosely in site, and the skin was loosely closed.
Convalescence was uneventful, and before his release from the hospital less then a week later, the patient confided the rest of his story to me.
An unmarried loner, he usually didn't leave the machine shop at lunchtime with his co-workers. Finding himself alone, he had begun the regular practice of masturbating by holding his penis against the canvas drive-belt of a large floor-based piece of running machinery. One day, as he approached orgasm, he lost his concentration and leaned too close to the belt. When his scrotum suddenly became caught between the pulley-wheel and the drive-belt, he was thrown into the air and landed a few feet away. Unaware that he had lost his left testis, and perhaps too stunned to feel much pain, he stapled the wound closed and resumed work.
I can only assume he abandoned this method of self-gratification.
By Dr. William A. Morton, Jr. MD, a retired urologist residing in West Chester, Pennsylvania.
Barry's Testicle Tale
A ripsnorter just in from none other than Australia's greatest music export, Barry Crocker. As reported here on the SMH:
A jury awarded nearly $1 million to an Ohio man who says he has endured years of pain and must walk bowlegged after his left testicle was struck by a broken weight machine bar at an athletic club.
"I can barely walk, let alone run. There's a constant throbbing of pain. I mean, it's my testicle. That's a very uncomfortable spot to feel pain," said Jason Houston, 25, adding that sex is tenuous following the February 2004 injury at a local YWCA.
Houston, who won the $953,700 award on Monday, was lifting about 68kg on a leg extension machine when a cable broke. That caused a centre steel rod with an adjusting ball to swing 180 degrees into his groin.
Houston has been receiving treatment for pain since. A nerve pain blocker was installed but that has not corrected all the pain.
"It's a horrendous injury. Everyone who hears his story just kind of winces," Houston's lawyer said.
A jury awarded nearly $1 million to an Ohio man who says he has endured years of pain and must walk bowlegged after his left testicle was struck by a broken weight machine bar at an athletic club.
"I can barely walk, let alone run. There's a constant throbbing of pain. I mean, it's my testicle. That's a very uncomfortable spot to feel pain," said Jason Houston, 25, adding that sex is tenuous following the February 2004 injury at a local YWCA.
Houston, who won the $953,700 award on Monday, was lifting about 68kg on a leg extension machine when a cable broke. That caused a centre steel rod with an adjusting ball to swing 180 degrees into his groin.
Houston has been receiving treatment for pain since. A nerve pain blocker was installed but that has not corrected all the pain.
"It's a horrendous injury. Everyone who hears his story just kind of winces," Houston's lawyer said.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Breaking News
Well Friday has finished with the news that Professor Ian Olver, CEO of the Cancer Council himself, is coming to the launch and will be saying a few words too.
And good news on the music from too. Jimmy James Blow, front man from MTV Kickstart Winners The Mischief will be on guitar playing his own quirky folkie blues.
And good news on the music from too. Jimmy James Blow, front man from MTV Kickstart Winners The Mischief will be on guitar playing his own quirky folkie blues.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Confirmed sighting
This photo just in from Josh Graham. As sighted in the Health section of Dymocks, 424 George St. I'm pleased to say that on Monday they had 30 copies but in this pic I can only count 20 or so. Go you good thing...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Ajit's Testicle Video
Ajit, me good mate in Bangalore says...
Can I use this to qualify for the competition? Check it out either way, its sweet!
Can I use this to qualify for the competition? Check it out either way, its sweet!
Josh's Testicle Tale
It was a bright, sunny prepubescent day at the crowded public swimming pool. Both my testicles were neatly packed in Speedo.
As were the testicles of all my prepubescent mates, as we gathered on the lawn and spread out our towels.
It was a scorcher. We dove in the pool. We swam for ages. And as soon as we climbed out, it was time for the paddle-pop run. My turn.
I took my testicles straight to the long, winding ice-cream queue. Some 30 minutes later, I wove my way through the seething hoards and returned to the towels with the treasure.
But rather than the big thank you I was expecting, I met with a different reaction entirely. Hysteria.
Howling. Weeping. Collapsing. Pointing. Pointing at my left testicle.
The one that had managed to escape my Speedo all those many minutes and witnesses ago.
There it was, gleaming naked in the sun. Young, innocent, exposed. Devoid of hair. The laughter lasted an hour.
I’ve been a boardies man ever since.
As were the testicles of all my prepubescent mates, as we gathered on the lawn and spread out our towels.
It was a scorcher. We dove in the pool. We swam for ages. And as soon as we climbed out, it was time for the paddle-pop run. My turn.
I took my testicles straight to the long, winding ice-cream queue. Some 30 minutes later, I wove my way through the seething hoards and returned to the towels with the treasure.
But rather than the big thank you I was expecting, I met with a different reaction entirely. Hysteria.
Howling. Weeping. Collapsing. Pointing. Pointing at my left testicle.
The one that had managed to escape my Speedo all those many minutes and witnesses ago.
There it was, gleaming naked in the sun. Young, innocent, exposed. Devoid of hair. The laughter lasted an hour.
I’ve been a boardies man ever since.
Jess' Testicle Tale
I knew a kid at school who fell on a stick at school and lost one. Last I heard he was in jail.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Uncle Ted's Testicle Tale
Uncle Ted says: The only joke I can think of about testicles is the following...
A guy from the city goes duck shooting and he believes he needs to get out in the fresh air. After 3 days and on his last day he shoots a prize duck. The duck take a dive and lands in an old farmers paddock next door. The hunter starts to climb over the fence to retrieve the prize duck.
As he does – a little old man pops up and say's – what the * are you doing? The hunter says I am picking up my duck – the old mans says – that's my duck it's on my property.
The hunter tells the old man that if he doesn't let him have the duck he will take legal action against the old farmer and make his life hell.
The little old farmer says - well we solve these types of issues a differently way around these parts. How is this asks the hunter – the little old man tells him that they kick each other in the balls and the one still standing wins.
The hunter looks at the little old man and thinks no problem I can beat this old guy. OK says the hunter.
The little old man kicks the hunter in the balls – and the hunter is surprised by how much it hurts – then again – and after the 3rd kick the hunter is on the ground in pain. However now it's my turn – he turns and says to the little old farmer – however the farmer has picked up his stuff and starts to walk away.
The hunter turn to the farmer and the farmer looks him in the eyes and says – you win you can keep the duck I didn't want it anyway!
A guy from the city goes duck shooting and he believes he needs to get out in the fresh air. After 3 days and on his last day he shoots a prize duck. The duck take a dive and lands in an old farmers paddock next door. The hunter starts to climb over the fence to retrieve the prize duck.
As he does – a little old man pops up and say's – what the * are you doing? The hunter says I am picking up my duck – the old mans says – that's my duck it's on my property.
The hunter tells the old man that if he doesn't let him have the duck he will take legal action against the old farmer and make his life hell.
The little old farmer says - well we solve these types of issues a differently way around these parts. How is this asks the hunter – the little old man tells him that they kick each other in the balls and the one still standing wins.
The hunter looks at the little old man and thinks no problem I can beat this old guy. OK says the hunter.
The little old man kicks the hunter in the balls – and the hunter is surprised by how much it hurts – then again – and after the 3rd kick the hunter is on the ground in pain. However now it's my turn – he turns and says to the little old farmer – however the farmer has picked up his stuff and starts to walk away.
The hunter turn to the farmer and the farmer looks him in the eyes and says – you win you can keep the duck I didn't want it anyway!
Ben 'Twister' Ando's Testicle Tale
Hospital, stitches, Volvo drivers...an absolute ripsorter of a testicle tale setting the standard from Ben Ando. If you don't feel like scrolling down to see what this is all about then all you need to know is I'm giving away copy #1 of my new book to the person with the most eye-watering testicle tale. Send your entries here.
TWISTER. A Tale By Ben Ando
To be honest, it didn’t seem like much of a wipe-out at the time. It was nothing like a full on kick-in-the-gonads kind of situation. The lip of the wave just slapped me in nether regions, much in the manner of an accidental knock during a play fight, or an unfortunate underpant tangle when dressing in a rush. Still it was enough to make me catch the next wave in.
Bowed and wincing I tried to catch my breath in the way only a bloke knows after ‘that feeling’… I trudged up the beach, grabbed my gear and headed for the change rooms. It was a quiet day at Bronte, overcast, small surf, a lack of bikini girls on the beach and an absence of strange men hanging around the loos. Just as well because there was enough to deal with as the pain increased, and my sense of concern rose in chorus. You just don’t want your bits to hurt like that.
Shower, change, wince, dress, breathe, ouch, not getting better, hmmmmm…..
I hobbled over to the next bus which was, mercifully, waiting for me in my sorry state. Now the journey home – all would be well once I got there, of course, I just had to focus on getting home. I sat and squirmed as that little ‘slap in the ’nads’ was getting repeated over and over. It now seemed that each time the waves of pain passed through my receptors, they knew how to trek the path with increasing aptitude.
The bus arrives at Bondi Junction and, by some miracle, there was the connecting bus to Double Bay. Back then it only went once an hour, but I was far too distracted by now to appreciate the kindness the Universe was now showing me. In fact I was actually getting pretty cranky with the Universe as my insides lurched with a bit of nausea that had been thrown in, just for good measure.
Sitting was no longer an option. I stood and clutched the seat in front of me for support for the first 20 minutes of the journey whilst thinking; breathe, home, breathe, uuurggh, breathe, ow.
The last 20 minutes were really special as the bus lurched and lumbered through the hills of the Eastern suburbs of Sydney in what can only be described as the most indirect route possible to my house. I now hung from the handrails at the back of the bus with my legs spread and noticed two things. First, the other passengers were giving me very strange looks, and second, my breathing had become rather loud and would probably be more accurately described as a moan – which could have explained the looks from my fellow commuters.
My stop - joy, well, put that in a relative context. I grabbed my board, wetsuit and bag then staggered off towards sanctuary. Home, it would all be alright once I got home. Keep moving.
The door was open. Mum was there – my mum, clever, full of energy always knew what was best.
“Mum, something’s wrong, I feel really bad.” (Insert mental image of 18 year old boy trying to figure out how to broach the subject of testicular torture to his mum).
“Oh well, lie down for a while you will feel better, I have to go out and I am already running late”
My mum – clever, energetic and the least sympathetic person on the planet with regards to sickness or physical injury – always was, always will be. But hey, she is my mum, so off I limp to bed for all of about 30 seconds until the now ever-present nausea is making me dry heave.
“I have to go and see a doctor, something’s really wrong,” I moaned.
“You’ll be fine, stop carrying on,” she parried.
But now instinct kicked in and overruled mum’s fine advice.
Still dressed in what can only be described as rather scruffy ‘around the house’ attire. I garbled something about ‘Doctor Hardy’ and ‘going with or without you’ to mum and headed down the street to the local surgery. Again the universe was kind – again I was not really disposed to notice. The surgery was only a few hundred metres from our house and as soon as I walked in (without mum) they saw the green tinge to my skin, the imploring look in my eyes and possibly the drool running down my chin, and they thought “Now here is a person that really does need to see a Doctor.”
The patient he was currently seeing was ushered out, looking most displeased to be less important than this hunched ragamuffin moaning in front of him (we are talking about Double Bay don’t forget) and it was time for action. I groaned my tale of woe at him and he ripped down my dacks for a better look. Mum had caught up by now and was busy trying not to look whilst still checking out how things had changed down there since she last wiped my butt many years ago.
My testes were a fantastic hue of bluey-purple and were quite swollen, which I felt was not really a great sign. The look on Dr. Hardy’s face wasn’t particularly encouraging either, but he made up for it with pethidine. Now I have done some dumb things, being a boy that is pretty standard. As a result I have a good working knowledge of local and general anaesthetics, but pethidine was new to me, and at that time I thought it was quite marvellous. In fact I vaguely recall telling everyone how marvellous it was, whilst smiling a lot and feeling rather good about the world.
“He needs to go to Sydney Hospital on Macquarie St. for surgery immediately, can you drive him, it will be faster than calling an ambulance?” States the Doc.
“Oh, oh, ahh, yes I can drive him,” mumbles mum whilst calculating whether or not she can still make her meeting and contemplating the fact that perhaps this may be a little more serious than she first assumed.
“Hospital hey? I like hospitals, the food is fun there.” I beam at both of them.
I ambled out of the surgery thanking everyone for helping me so much and telling them how nice it was that they could fit me straight in, and isn’t it quite a nice day now, oh and by the way, why is there a needle hanging out of my forearm still?
Apparently I will be given lots more drugs and they want to save me from becoming a pin cushion, so they have just set up a semi-permanent route.
“That’s nice, how very considerate,” I muse.
Now my mum’s lack of sympathy is compensated by her driving abilities. She is a wizard on the roads, fast, ruthless and shrewd. The best bit is the fact that she’s driving a Volvo, which generally catches everyone off guard. She rockets along New South Head Rd and then William Street into town, which is as usual devoid of parking spaces. We have had a great chat along the way about the whole situation and how it is fine that she didn’t realise what was going on, and no, I totally understand, and wow look at how green those trees are.
She mounts the kerb whilst suits aplenty scowl at this mad Volvo drive. Unfortunately it is on the wrong side of the road, and now things are starting to feel a bit less fabulous as, the blessed fog of drugs is thinning. I am not particularly happy about having to cross the road and find my way into the hospital but I am assured it will all be fine, she just has to park the car and then she will find me.
Humph.
Staggering is back in fashion it appears as my legs and brain have little discussions that occasionally seem quite argumentative. But I dodge a couple of cars (actually they may have dodged me) and recommence my groaning as I try to climb an inordinate amount of stairs to the hospital entrance. Who puts that many stairs in front of a hospital I ask you? Even if it was built the better part of two centuries ago, it just seems like poor planning and it’s something that really does not sit well with me at the moment.
Then I see a light at the end of a tunnel, it is a vision I will never forget. This short white dressed, slicked blond haired, big cheeky smiled nurse out of some fantasy standing there and holding a wheelchair which she says is for me.
She says “Sit down and try to be comfortable as I take you to pre-op.” She is beautiful, I am 17 and male, I would have happily pushed her at that juncture.
Then the pace kicks up a notch. Drugs have worn off and more are really, really needed, now, really.
“No sorry,” says an anaesthetist (I don’t like him much, where did my cute nurse go?), “you will be going under a general anaesthetic for emergency surgery in a moment, when did you last eat and how much?
“Huh?”
There is some discussion, some counting back from 10 and then nothing.
I wake up about 24 hours later having slept way longer than I should have after the anaesthetic wore off (its not the first time, I once slept for 2 days after a general anaesthetic, but I digress). I am greeted by the sight of hospital interior and the feel of eewughh.
Yes I am reasonably OK all things considered and no I don’t need to go to the toilet thanks.
Back to sleep.
The next time I wake it is to find two nurses, not the goddess I first saw but pretty cute all the same. They inform me that they need to check on my stitches.
“I have stitches?” I enquire.
Apparently yes, I have about 24 of them, some external and some internal. I wonder how you can have stitches inside your nuts, but there you have it, they are the experts and they reckon I do.
The girls do their best not to smile and look like they are enjoying themselves, which I can plainly see they are – I realise I had better get used to people checking my bits out. They bandage me back up, which is disappointingly unlike anything like you hope it would be when two cute nurses are touching you down there – guess that ruined that option for role- play when I got older.
The doctor comes later and explains what happened. I forget the precise language but the message is still crystal clear…
Basically, some men are born with an internal piece of skin attaching the testes to the scrotal sack, which prevent the testes turning within the scrotum. I was not one of them and as a result, the testes managed to turn and cut off the blood supply, causing them to start dying. This is both painful and potentially the end of fatherhood. He reckoned it was pretty touch and go, 10 or so minutes between losing at least one which had done more turns than the other. The other one he gave another half hour.
His parting comment has always stuck with me.
“Basically, that’s one of the most unpleasantly painful things a guy can go through. We liken it to giving birth for a woman”.
I didn’t really understand how to take that comment, and still don’t.
It eventually dawned on me that I would be in hospital for a while, and what happens when you are in hospital? Well, friends and family come to visit of course. The family was one thing, but friends are something else. I will sum it up with the opening remark from a surfing mate called Ian.
“Hey Twister, how’s it hanging?”
Things all worked out rather well in the end, I lost a lot of bashfulness, gained a great story and now have some rather unique scars which I am generally unable to show people.
Male humans are not all that well designed I reckon.
TWISTER. A Tale By Ben Ando
To be honest, it didn’t seem like much of a wipe-out at the time. It was nothing like a full on kick-in-the-gonads kind of situation. The lip of the wave just slapped me in nether regions, much in the manner of an accidental knock during a play fight, or an unfortunate underpant tangle when dressing in a rush. Still it was enough to make me catch the next wave in.
Bowed and wincing I tried to catch my breath in the way only a bloke knows after ‘that feeling’… I trudged up the beach, grabbed my gear and headed for the change rooms. It was a quiet day at Bronte, overcast, small surf, a lack of bikini girls on the beach and an absence of strange men hanging around the loos. Just as well because there was enough to deal with as the pain increased, and my sense of concern rose in chorus. You just don’t want your bits to hurt like that.
Shower, change, wince, dress, breathe, ouch, not getting better, hmmmmm…..
I hobbled over to the next bus which was, mercifully, waiting for me in my sorry state. Now the journey home – all would be well once I got there, of course, I just had to focus on getting home. I sat and squirmed as that little ‘slap in the ’nads’ was getting repeated over and over. It now seemed that each time the waves of pain passed through my receptors, they knew how to trek the path with increasing aptitude.
The bus arrives at Bondi Junction and, by some miracle, there was the connecting bus to Double Bay. Back then it only went once an hour, but I was far too distracted by now to appreciate the kindness the Universe was now showing me. In fact I was actually getting pretty cranky with the Universe as my insides lurched with a bit of nausea that had been thrown in, just for good measure.
Sitting was no longer an option. I stood and clutched the seat in front of me for support for the first 20 minutes of the journey whilst thinking; breathe, home, breathe, uuurggh, breathe, ow.
The last 20 minutes were really special as the bus lurched and lumbered through the hills of the Eastern suburbs of Sydney in what can only be described as the most indirect route possible to my house. I now hung from the handrails at the back of the bus with my legs spread and noticed two things. First, the other passengers were giving me very strange looks, and second, my breathing had become rather loud and would probably be more accurately described as a moan – which could have explained the looks from my fellow commuters.
My stop - joy, well, put that in a relative context. I grabbed my board, wetsuit and bag then staggered off towards sanctuary. Home, it would all be alright once I got home. Keep moving.
The door was open. Mum was there – my mum, clever, full of energy always knew what was best.
“Mum, something’s wrong, I feel really bad.” (Insert mental image of 18 year old boy trying to figure out how to broach the subject of testicular torture to his mum).
“Oh well, lie down for a while you will feel better, I have to go out and I am already running late”
My mum – clever, energetic and the least sympathetic person on the planet with regards to sickness or physical injury – always was, always will be. But hey, she is my mum, so off I limp to bed for all of about 30 seconds until the now ever-present nausea is making me dry heave.
“I have to go and see a doctor, something’s really wrong,” I moaned.
“You’ll be fine, stop carrying on,” she parried.
But now instinct kicked in and overruled mum’s fine advice.
Still dressed in what can only be described as rather scruffy ‘around the house’ attire. I garbled something about ‘Doctor Hardy’ and ‘going with or without you’ to mum and headed down the street to the local surgery. Again the universe was kind – again I was not really disposed to notice. The surgery was only a few hundred metres from our house and as soon as I walked in (without mum) they saw the green tinge to my skin, the imploring look in my eyes and possibly the drool running down my chin, and they thought “Now here is a person that really does need to see a Doctor.”
The patient he was currently seeing was ushered out, looking most displeased to be less important than this hunched ragamuffin moaning in front of him (we are talking about Double Bay don’t forget) and it was time for action. I groaned my tale of woe at him and he ripped down my dacks for a better look. Mum had caught up by now and was busy trying not to look whilst still checking out how things had changed down there since she last wiped my butt many years ago.
My testes were a fantastic hue of bluey-purple and were quite swollen, which I felt was not really a great sign. The look on Dr. Hardy’s face wasn’t particularly encouraging either, but he made up for it with pethidine. Now I have done some dumb things, being a boy that is pretty standard. As a result I have a good working knowledge of local and general anaesthetics, but pethidine was new to me, and at that time I thought it was quite marvellous. In fact I vaguely recall telling everyone how marvellous it was, whilst smiling a lot and feeling rather good about the world.
“He needs to go to Sydney Hospital on Macquarie St. for surgery immediately, can you drive him, it will be faster than calling an ambulance?” States the Doc.
“Oh, oh, ahh, yes I can drive him,” mumbles mum whilst calculating whether or not she can still make her meeting and contemplating the fact that perhaps this may be a little more serious than she first assumed.
“Hospital hey? I like hospitals, the food is fun there.” I beam at both of them.
I ambled out of the surgery thanking everyone for helping me so much and telling them how nice it was that they could fit me straight in, and isn’t it quite a nice day now, oh and by the way, why is there a needle hanging out of my forearm still?
Apparently I will be given lots more drugs and they want to save me from becoming a pin cushion, so they have just set up a semi-permanent route.
“That’s nice, how very considerate,” I muse.
Now my mum’s lack of sympathy is compensated by her driving abilities. She is a wizard on the roads, fast, ruthless and shrewd. The best bit is the fact that she’s driving a Volvo, which generally catches everyone off guard. She rockets along New South Head Rd and then William Street into town, which is as usual devoid of parking spaces. We have had a great chat along the way about the whole situation and how it is fine that she didn’t realise what was going on, and no, I totally understand, and wow look at how green those trees are.
She mounts the kerb whilst suits aplenty scowl at this mad Volvo drive. Unfortunately it is on the wrong side of the road, and now things are starting to feel a bit less fabulous as, the blessed fog of drugs is thinning. I am not particularly happy about having to cross the road and find my way into the hospital but I am assured it will all be fine, she just has to park the car and then she will find me.
Humph.
Staggering is back in fashion it appears as my legs and brain have little discussions that occasionally seem quite argumentative. But I dodge a couple of cars (actually they may have dodged me) and recommence my groaning as I try to climb an inordinate amount of stairs to the hospital entrance. Who puts that many stairs in front of a hospital I ask you? Even if it was built the better part of two centuries ago, it just seems like poor planning and it’s something that really does not sit well with me at the moment.
Then I see a light at the end of a tunnel, it is a vision I will never forget. This short white dressed, slicked blond haired, big cheeky smiled nurse out of some fantasy standing there and holding a wheelchair which she says is for me.
She says “Sit down and try to be comfortable as I take you to pre-op.” She is beautiful, I am 17 and male, I would have happily pushed her at that juncture.
Then the pace kicks up a notch. Drugs have worn off and more are really, really needed, now, really.
“No sorry,” says an anaesthetist (I don’t like him much, where did my cute nurse go?), “you will be going under a general anaesthetic for emergency surgery in a moment, when did you last eat and how much?
“Huh?”
There is some discussion, some counting back from 10 and then nothing.
I wake up about 24 hours later having slept way longer than I should have after the anaesthetic wore off (its not the first time, I once slept for 2 days after a general anaesthetic, but I digress). I am greeted by the sight of hospital interior and the feel of eewughh.
Yes I am reasonably OK all things considered and no I don’t need to go to the toilet thanks.
Back to sleep.
The next time I wake it is to find two nurses, not the goddess I first saw but pretty cute all the same. They inform me that they need to check on my stitches.
“I have stitches?” I enquire.
Apparently yes, I have about 24 of them, some external and some internal. I wonder how you can have stitches inside your nuts, but there you have it, they are the experts and they reckon I do.
The girls do their best not to smile and look like they are enjoying themselves, which I can plainly see they are – I realise I had better get used to people checking my bits out. They bandage me back up, which is disappointingly unlike anything like you hope it would be when two cute nurses are touching you down there – guess that ruined that option for role- play when I got older.
The doctor comes later and explains what happened. I forget the precise language but the message is still crystal clear…
Basically, some men are born with an internal piece of skin attaching the testes to the scrotal sack, which prevent the testes turning within the scrotum. I was not one of them and as a result, the testes managed to turn and cut off the blood supply, causing them to start dying. This is both painful and potentially the end of fatherhood. He reckoned it was pretty touch and go, 10 or so minutes between losing at least one which had done more turns than the other. The other one he gave another half hour.
His parting comment has always stuck with me.
“Basically, that’s one of the most unpleasantly painful things a guy can go through. We liken it to giving birth for a woman”.
I didn’t really understand how to take that comment, and still don’t.
It eventually dawned on me that I would be in hospital for a while, and what happens when you are in hospital? Well, friends and family come to visit of course. The family was one thing, but friends are something else. I will sum it up with the opening remark from a surfing mate called Ian.
“Hey Twister, how’s it hanging?”
Things all worked out rather well in the end, I lost a lot of bashfulness, gained a great story and now have some rather unique scars which I am generally unable to show people.
Male humans are not all that well designed I reckon.
Zac's Testicle Tales
Just like to share my two testicles stories. Funny how they come in in pairs...
1.
My mate Theo suffered from Elephantis of the left testicle which simply means it was huuge...the size a tennis ball...and he had lost all sensation in it. This meant he could endure people squeezing his testicle without pain. A popular party trick would keep us entertained, asking people to "Squeeze this with all your might." No matter how hard anyone squeezed, it didn't hurt. Hilarious stuff.
He would like to compare his testicle against anyone to see who had the largest ball. Unfortunately, his schlong didn't match up to left testicle, or perhaps the distorted shaped had dwarfed his old fella.
2.
True story heard it on the radio so it must have been true. An elderly gent in frail health would shower sitting on a plastic chair, through the passage of time the chair had deteriorated and spilit and crumbled oneday when he was sitting on it and showering. The chair opened up his testicle went south trapped them underneath the chair whilst he remained seated above. Needless to say the fire bridage had to preform an interesting rescue job on him.
1.
My mate Theo suffered from Elephantis of the left testicle which simply means it was huuge...the size a tennis ball...and he had lost all sensation in it. This meant he could endure people squeezing his testicle without pain. A popular party trick would keep us entertained, asking people to "Squeeze this with all your might." No matter how hard anyone squeezed, it didn't hurt. Hilarious stuff.
He would like to compare his testicle against anyone to see who had the largest ball. Unfortunately, his schlong didn't match up to left testicle, or perhaps the distorted shaped had dwarfed his old fella.
2.
True story heard it on the radio so it must have been true. An elderly gent in frail health would shower sitting on a plastic chair, through the passage of time the chair had deteriorated and spilit and crumbled oneday when he was sitting on it and showering. The chair opened up his testicle went south trapped them underneath the chair whilst he remained seated above. Needless to say the fire bridage had to preform an interesting rescue job on him.
Matt's Testicle Tale
I don't really have a testicle story but I do have one which is in the same territory so to speak. When I was about 8 or 9 years old, my posh aunt and uncle came over for sunday lunch. As is tradition with little boys and Sunday lunch, I found myself busting for a wee wee as we were half way through the main course (probably too much R Whites lemonade for those of you who lived in the UK in the early 1980s). Anyway, after making the big announcement whilst said posh aunt and uncle were tucking into their beef and yorkshire puddings (1980's again anyone?), I toddled off to the toilet. A few minutes later and I was all finished. I quickly whipped the mini crown jewels back in my trousers and zipped myself up.
Ooooooooooooooochh.....muuuuuuummmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyy.....I caught my willy in my zip....helllllllppppp. The next ten minutes were spent with my mum, dad, brother, posh aunt and uncle all inspecting my micro trouser snake wondering how to unzip it without giving my an impromptu circumcision. Glad to say that they managed to find a solution after which we all got back to the now cold meat and two veg.
Ooooooooooooooochh.....muuuuuuummmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyy.....I caught my willy in my zip....helllllllppppp. The next ten minutes were spent with my mum, dad, brother, posh aunt and uncle all inspecting my micro trouser snake wondering how to unzip it without giving my an impromptu circumcision. Glad to say that they managed to find a solution after which we all got back to the now cold meat and two veg.
Annabelle's Testicle Tale
I remember hearing this one at uni so the details are a little hazy...the punch line however is not.
There was a professional basketball player in the States and he was playing a rather vigorous game it seems. After some sort of scuffle he went down and his testicle became the real victim of the fall. He was stretchered off and in agony he asked the doctor for reassurance in relation to the testicle. 'It's going to be ok isn't it doc? How is it doing?' To which the doctor allegedly replied, 'Think of a grape. Now STEP ON IT!!!'
I don't have testicles but OUCH.
There was a professional basketball player in the States and he was playing a rather vigorous game it seems. After some sort of scuffle he went down and his testicle became the real victim of the fall. He was stretchered off and in agony he asked the doctor for reassurance in relation to the testicle. 'It's going to be ok isn't it doc? How is it doing?' To which the doctor allegedly replied, 'Think of a grape. Now STEP ON IT!!!'
I don't have testicles but OUCH.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Now on Sale!
So I thought I was meant to be the one coming up with clever book marketing ideas. Alas, no. Just three says after it hit the shelves I have discovered the first instance of my book on sale. Now just $22.35. Save $2.60. Where, I hear you all line up to ask? Right here: www.thebookabyss.com.au/inc/sdetail/13903
Sally's Testicle Tale
I was recently at Coachella festival in Palm Springs, US and there was a guy lying on the grass, on his back, in a Borat-famous lime green mankini, obviously thinking he a bit funny/cool, but not realising his right testicle was popping out the side of the fabric. As you know, testicles aren't the most attractive part of the male anatomy, and unfortunately the visual is still with me. Though the guys I was with at the time, were a lot more disturbed than I was.
Uncle Jack's Testicle Vids
Ok so sending in videos doesn't quite qualify as Testicle Tales...or do they? Maybe a video narrative is really the best way to convey the pain. These ones here sent by me Uncle Jack:
Jono's Testicle Tales
I have a suffered many a testicular injury during sport (supposedly the most common sporting injury), but the two most painful would have to be:
#1: When I was 14, I was in my judo class where were were practising throws from the horse stance. The horse stance is where you keep your back straight, and squat with your legs about a metre apart. It's supposed to defend against techniques that pull you off balance particularly from the front.
So there I was, squatting low, an impressive example of judo expertise, when the class trouble-maker Regan (a hyperactive 10 year old with ADD) thought it'd be funny to come up behind me while I was distracted fighting my opponent. He then kicked me straight up in the gonads, toes upwards. It was excruciating and I crawled off the mat. Regan got sent home from class and I was in agony for about 20 minutes. (His Mum made him apologise to me the following week with a stuttering "suh-suh-suh-sorry")
#2: At a provincial Under 18 tournament, I was batting at number 11 facing the tournament tearaway bowler. His first ball smashed my finger, nearly breaking it. His second ball swung in and struck me full on in the balls. Now, when you bat you're supposed to not show any pain or fear if you get hit, otherwise the fielding team smell blood. I heard everyone suck in their breath and groan when I was struck, and surprisingly despite the pain, I managed half a smile, whilst doubled over. The final ball dismissed me and I didn't give a toss. Back in the dressing room, I inspected to see if there was any damage -- my box had a crack down the centre of it...
#1: When I was 14, I was in my judo class where were were practising throws from the horse stance. The horse stance is where you keep your back straight, and squat with your legs about a metre apart. It's supposed to defend against techniques that pull you off balance particularly from the front.
So there I was, squatting low, an impressive example of judo expertise, when the class trouble-maker Regan (a hyperactive 10 year old with ADD) thought it'd be funny to come up behind me while I was distracted fighting my opponent. He then kicked me straight up in the gonads, toes upwards. It was excruciating and I crawled off the mat. Regan got sent home from class and I was in agony for about 20 minutes. (His Mum made him apologise to me the following week with a stuttering "suh-suh-suh-sorry")
#2: At a provincial Under 18 tournament, I was batting at number 11 facing the tournament tearaway bowler. His first ball smashed my finger, nearly breaking it. His second ball swung in and struck me full on in the balls. Now, when you bat you're supposed to not show any pain or fear if you get hit, otherwise the fielding team smell blood. I heard everyone suck in their breath and groan when I was struck, and surprisingly despite the pain, I managed half a smile, whilst doubled over. The final ball dismissed me and I didn't give a toss. Back in the dressing room, I inspected to see if there was any damage -- my box had a crack down the centre of it...
Scott's Testicle Tale
This one below from Scott David from Maud. Keep 'em coming. Send your testicle tale to me at here and win copy number one of Lessons from my Left Testicle.
My tale of testicle pain happened when I was 16. It was Michael Jackson's fault.
The Marconi Country Club were happy to take in large groups of under aged drinkers and dancers. They had to. There were no other clients. So each Saturday we'd pour in with our dressed-up-like-adults jackets and ultra-thin ties. We'd lower our voices for the bouncers and the bar. It was a mating ritual from beginning to end. It involved careful targeting of the right girl, as much good dancing to impress, some drinks and talking, and then the courage to ask the question when the DJ finally said, "OK folks, we're going to slow things down a bit now".
I'd already singled out who I was on for. Soraya. She described herself as half Persian, was extremely beautiful, and definitely worth the extra effort to make an impression. And so the circles of dancing began, some around handbags and others looping around the solo dancers one by one doing their turns. And the mood took me, Soraya was looking at me, and the circle of dancers acknowledged that it was my turn to be in the middle. Michael Jackson was pumping out Thriller. I'd been watching some of the body popping on Top of the Pops so amongst my angular turns, jumps and spins, I went for a new move like a lizard rocking backwards. Up in the air. Rotate to come down to the floor chest-on with a deeply arched back to roll the body, then jump back to the hands and roll the body back again and again. Except that I didn't. It was the belly flop of body-popping. So amidst great cheering that turned into a gasp, I came down straight and flat onto my balls from a great height. There was pain in everyone's eyes, but mostly in mine. It seemed as though the music had stopped. And I couldn't work out if it was the extreme pain shooting through me like lightning, or the humiliation in front of Soraya, that hurt the most.
After limping off for a drink, and holding my stomach for a while. I was surprised to find Soraya coming over for a chat. A good dose of pain and embarrassment can be a surprisingly good conversational ice-breaker. We went out together for a fantastic 6 months. Who knows if that would have happened if not for my painful enthusiasm.
My tale of testicle pain happened when I was 16. It was Michael Jackson's fault.
The Marconi Country Club were happy to take in large groups of under aged drinkers and dancers. They had to. There were no other clients. So each Saturday we'd pour in with our dressed-up-like-adults jackets and ultra-thin ties. We'd lower our voices for the bouncers and the bar. It was a mating ritual from beginning to end. It involved careful targeting of the right girl, as much good dancing to impress, some drinks and talking, and then the courage to ask the question when the DJ finally said, "OK folks, we're going to slow things down a bit now".
I'd already singled out who I was on for. Soraya. She described herself as half Persian, was extremely beautiful, and definitely worth the extra effort to make an impression. And so the circles of dancing began, some around handbags and others looping around the solo dancers one by one doing their turns. And the mood took me, Soraya was looking at me, and the circle of dancers acknowledged that it was my turn to be in the middle. Michael Jackson was pumping out Thriller. I'd been watching some of the body popping on Top of the Pops so amongst my angular turns, jumps and spins, I went for a new move like a lizard rocking backwards. Up in the air. Rotate to come down to the floor chest-on with a deeply arched back to roll the body, then jump back to the hands and roll the body back again and again. Except that I didn't. It was the belly flop of body-popping. So amidst great cheering that turned into a gasp, I came down straight and flat onto my balls from a great height. There was pain in everyone's eyes, but mostly in mine. It seemed as though the music had stopped. And I couldn't work out if it was the extreme pain shooting through me like lightning, or the humiliation in front of Soraya, that hurt the most.
After limping off for a drink, and holding my stomach for a while. I was surprised to find Soraya coming over for a chat. A good dose of pain and embarrassment can be a surprisingly good conversational ice-breaker. We went out together for a fantastic 6 months. Who knows if that would have happened if not for my painful enthusiasm.
Anon's Testicle Tale
So this one has come with a 'please don't put my name on it'...
"My best testicle tale is the sheer embarrassment that I suffered when I found my friend with my laptop in my lounge room looking through my past Google searches. What did he find? 'testicular pain after masturbation'.
Hey? What can I say…now that’s a google search…”
"My best testicle tale is the sheer embarrassment that I suffered when I found my friend with my laptop in my lounge room looking through my past Google searches. What did he find? 'testicular pain after masturbation'.
Hey? What can I say…now that’s a google search…”
Frank's Testicle Tale
First shot at the free book comes from Mr Frank Klein. A ball in the balls. Nice...
It was a beautiful Saturday morning close to my sixteenth birthday. Cycling to my football club with my best mate Stevie we were debating how to beat our opponents. From our previous encounter we knew they were big, fat and ugly.
"Frank, I'll put pressure on that colossus of a sweeper, you take the ball and score, too simple", Steve proposed. It was the first sensible thing he had ever said about football since his mind was on art and sex permanently.
And so it went. It was the 15th minute when Stevie decided the time and moment were right to execute our plan. Although Stevie's body mass was a third of the 1.95 sweeper of our opponent he charged in like a lion, wearing a black army beret like he always did during important matches, and his art classes. I followed Steve waiting for the sweeper to panic, deliver the ball to me and give me the opportunity to score easily.
Unfortunately the sweeper pulled a trick on Steve and I was face to face with Andre The Giant. Steve had managed to panic our opponent which made him strike the ball with sheer power to clear it ASAP.
Straight in my nuts.
The pain and dimension that followed can not be described. The only remaining image is that of Stevie. Faintly smiling under his black beret and stretching my leg since he thought I had cramps.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning close to my sixteenth birthday. Cycling to my football club with my best mate Stevie we were debating how to beat our opponents. From our previous encounter we knew they were big, fat and ugly.
"Frank, I'll put pressure on that colossus of a sweeper, you take the ball and score, too simple", Steve proposed. It was the first sensible thing he had ever said about football since his mind was on art and sex permanently.
And so it went. It was the 15th minute when Stevie decided the time and moment were right to execute our plan. Although Stevie's body mass was a third of the 1.95 sweeper of our opponent he charged in like a lion, wearing a black army beret like he always did during important matches, and his art classes. I followed Steve waiting for the sweeper to panic, deliver the ball to me and give me the opportunity to score easily.
Unfortunately the sweeper pulled a trick on Steve and I was face to face with Andre The Giant. Steve had managed to panic our opponent which made him strike the ball with sheer power to clear it ASAP.
Straight in my nuts.
The pain and dimension that followed can not be described. The only remaining image is that of Stevie. Faintly smiling under his black beret and stretching my leg since he thought I had cramps.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Guerilla Marketing Tactic #2: Have a launch
OK, so having a book launch isn't exactly subversive but it's got to be done, if only to shout a few friends a drink in celebration.
Lucky enough Berkelouw Books has offered to host the party and Paul Wilson has agreed to do a bit of chit chat. It's a case of come one come all. You just have to RSVP to leichhardt@berkelouw.com.au or to me so that we know to get enough grog in the door for you. And yes, please feel free to bring your friends.
Guerilla Marketing Tactic #1: Throw in a Win!
It seems to me that all those big brands get suckers like you and me to try their inferior products by throwing in a freebie or two.
So, what better way to start having a go? Here's the deal.
I have made it my mission to track the first copy of Lessons from my Left Testicle from printing press to publisher's office and now I have it in my paws.
Rather than keep it, frame it and stick it on the wall like everyone's telling me to do, I'm going to give it away to you, if you want it. All you have to do is tell me your best testicle story. I'll stick the best ones up here, sign the book and send it to the one that incurs the most pain on male listeners' faces.
So bring 'em on...email your testicle stories by clicking right on here.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Introducing my first born
I am pleased to announce that on May 1 my firstborn was delivered to book stores all over Australia.
Weighing in at half a pound, this healthy happy bouncing baby has brought an awful lot of happiness to this proud parent already. So much so that I can't help but show off the photos of it coming into this world, below.
And the name? We've called him Lessons from My Left Testicle.
Of course little Lessons was delivered with care and precision by the good folk at Finch Publishing but, now that it's in the big wide world it is, sadly, on its own, fighting for shelf space against the big cashed up bullies of the book world.
Like all parents I am determined to give it the best start in life, hence this blog. Over the coming months, with the help of a few fine collaborators, I'll be experimenting with home-baked, no-cost ways to get my baby noticed and keep it top shelf where I'm glad to say it debuted in a number of stores this week.
We call it An Experiment in Guerilla Book Marketing. And we're starting right...now!
If you have any good ideas to add to the mix, then email them to me here.
Weighing in at half a pound, this healthy happy bouncing baby has brought an awful lot of happiness to this proud parent already. So much so that I can't help but show off the photos of it coming into this world, below.
And the name? We've called him Lessons from My Left Testicle.
Of course little Lessons was delivered with care and precision by the good folk at Finch Publishing but, now that it's in the big wide world it is, sadly, on its own, fighting for shelf space against the big cashed up bullies of the book world.
Like all parents I am determined to give it the best start in life, hence this blog. Over the coming months, with the help of a few fine collaborators, I'll be experimenting with home-baked, no-cost ways to get my baby noticed and keep it top shelf where I'm glad to say it debuted in a number of stores this week.
We call it An Experiment in Guerilla Book Marketing. And we're starting right...now!
If you have any good ideas to add to the mix, then email them to me here.
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