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6:44 a.m. - 2003-04-17


My computer at home is acting up really, really weird. I'm hoping it's just my mouse, but the mouse won't leave the sides of the screen, which seem to be indented slightly. I can move the mouse all around, but it just goes up and down the edges of the screen. Therefore, I can't really do much on the computer at home.

If anybody knows what I'm talking about or can tell me how to fix it, please leave me a message on the message board. Thanks.

The trouble with doing this diary is sometimes I tend to exaggerate on certain things and therefore I'm not always taken seriously with the things I write here.

But what I'm about to tell you is 100% true. And as sad as it is, it cracked my ass up hard last night.

Susie called her Mom to talk to her about something or other.

Grandma said "Have you heard what happened to Pervy?"

Susie says..."No".

Apparently Sunday evening, Pervy announces at the family dinner table that he had been having sharp pains in his scrotum.

This is the first part where I started laughing like a hyena. The kid waits until everyone's eating and says "My balls are KILLING me!"

He elaborates by saying that they're sharp pains that go away after a minute or two.

Naturally, everyone's finished eating at this point. Plenty of food still on their plates, but the mental image of Pervy's swollen nut sack is enough for anyone to push themselves away from the dinner table.

So Dad is a bit concerned since Pervy is their only hope to continue the family name. The early prognosis on his brother Sissy Boy is that it's highly unlikely he will ever be procreating due to his obsession with lacey things and Judy Garland albums.

My no-good, rabble scrabble, $1,100-owing brother-in-law is now 40 and is nowhere close to starting a family, let alone meeting a woman who would actually let him place his wiener in her pee-pee.

So that leaves Pervy. The kid who could make jacking off an Olympic event and win the gold and silver medals in the same contest.

Anyway, Dad takes Pervy to the doctor's office.

The doctor does a few X-rays, juggles Pervy's balls in his hand, wipes the Pervy Spermies off his face and announces that Pervy's testicle has twisted itself and that a blood vessel has choked it to death.

Thus, Pervy has lost a testicle.

It is dead.

It is not pining. It has passed on.

This testicle is no more. It has ceased to be.

The testicle has expired and gone to meet his maker.

It is a stiff. Bereft of life, the testicle rests in peace. If you hadn't nailed the testicle to the nutsack it would be pushing up the daisies.

His metabolic processes are now history. It is off the twig.

It has kicked the bucket, shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible.


He has beaten his balls until one of them screamed "NO MORE!" and committed testicle suicide by wrapping a blood vessel around its testicle neck thus ending its own pathetic Pervy Testicle Life.

So tomorrow, they're taking Pervy in for testicle surgery to remove the one testicle and make sure that they can save the other testicle.

It's not funny. I mean ... the kid is 15 years old.

But I just keep imagining his face on a Public Service Announcement.

"Don't beat it too much, or you'll lose it."

"Is one more self-induced orgasm REALLY worth it?"

"I whacked it silly and now I'll never have children."

I mean really ... the possibilities are endless.

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