He Had His Wisdom Nuts Removed

This guy I knew had to have the worst operation a man can imagine. It's what a lot of us fear but have never dealt with, the removal of the wisdom nuts.

They're always up there, like wisdom teeth, but they're usually in a state of quiescence, more or less twiddling their thumbs. The theory is, if there's nothing to trigger them, they're simply dormant your whole life. That's what usually happens. But if triggered, God forbid, their descent means nothing less than certain death, or in milder cases, excruciating pain and embarrassment.

What triggers the wisdom nuts to descend? Most men have nothing to fear, since the basic trigger is the fairly uncommon practice of masturbation. Thanks to the discipline of self-control, begun in our teen years, most of us are completely safe. But there's always that foolish few... And they are in even greater danger if they happen to be fantasizing about larger women or dinosaurs. That's not a slam against larger women, because it's an evolutionary fact that a man will psychologically feel less capable of satisfying a bigger gal, hence the triggering of the extra nuts.

As for dinosaurs, many of our ancestors were the victims of dinosaur attacks. They'd be climbing a tree to escape and a dinosaur would bite off their nuts. Then, if they somehow made it to safety, their wisdom nuts would descend, of course not knowing there was no sac to hold them, as nature had somehow neglected to create a wisdom version of the scrotum.

So what happened to my friend? He told me not to tell anyone, but since no one reads my blog anyway, I guess I can say it. He was fired from his job about six months ago, and he's been scraping by with barely any cash. So he had to move back in with his mom. It's a bad situation. OK, here's the thing: He got his old room back, OK? Which just happened to have his old dinosaur wallpaper from the '90s. And his mom's a rather large woman, so I'll leave it to you to figure out his fantasy life...

Anyway, he noticed some uncomfortable shifting, some painful movement of a tectonic nature down there, and next thing he knew he was writhing in agony. They got him to the hospital, and the tests showed he had a serious problem, his wisdom nuts had to come out!

(Plus, I'm not a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but looking at the picture, it looks like he's having trouble passing a Mitt Romney-shaped turd. The Republicans have the same complaint, but they're looking on the bright side: "He may be a turd, but at least he's white!")

So what's the main problem with wisdom nuts? There's not really a good place for them to be in the human anatomy as it's presently arranged. And they don't have a dedicated path down. So they just plow through whatever tissue happens to be in the way, causing terrific pain. Again, look at the picture. That's three lines of radiating pain on each side, extremely hard to endure.

Let my friend's trouble serve as a lesson for you: Mom and Barney don't mix.

Clearing My Throat

I still have all of my old scruples about serious cussing around womenfolk. This is something I got in part from Grandpa. He was big with some of the milder cussing but always saved the F bombs -- real vulgar stuff -- for when he was around us guys only. I remember he'd take me to school and he'd be F bombing all over the place, and I definitely knew I was a guy.

But I actually have a lot more scruples than Grandpa ever had when it comes to this stuff. I think he was a wild man wherever he was raised (southern Missouri) and did his best to come around to civilization. But I was civilized from the start, a proper gentleman in many ways. (I had a mother who kept tabs on me.) I could still fit in with Grandpa, if you know what I mean, but boys were definitely softer in my day than in Grandpa's.

So, this brings us up to today. And yesterday. When they were reporting all that business about Jesse Jackson wanting to cut off Obama's [clearing my throat], I heard it once, then cleared my throat all the other times it was mentioned. I don't need Grandma hearing that kind of dirty talk. So she's going, "What'd they say?" I'm kind of patting my chest, like, 'I don't know what brought on that throat clearing fit. Something down the wrong tube.' "I'm sorry, Grandma, I didn't hear it." Fortunately she was able to let it go.

And there I am, hoping for better news, anything else, an earthquake in China, a typhoon in an orphanage, anything to keep me from being embarrassed.

Plus, think about it: Grandma is so old that her mind runs in deep ruts. She might hear what Jesse Jackson actually said and go around repeating it. And sometimes she can talk really loudly. "HE SAID HE WANTS TO CUT OFF HIS [clearing my throat]." Then I'd be clearing my throat like that when Grandma's talking to her friends, or in the grocery store, or sitting in church. Patting my chest, never knowing what came over me.

The only thing to do -- well, there's two things, 1) Go without the news, except Grandma is addicted to getting the news; 2) Keep clearing my throat everytime it's reported or, or right at that moment click it off and say, "Well, sounds like we're into reruns."

If you know as much about old people as I do, you know they hate reruns. I knew a guy whose Dad was a very depressed old man. And this guy wanted to cheer him up, so he suggested getting him a VCR. "Ahh, what do I need one of those for?" So the son said he would get him a lot of John Wayne movies. But the Dad only complained in his lowest depressed voice, "They'd probably just be reruns."

Now that Jesse Jackson has apologized for threatening -- you know -- they'll probably quit mentioning it so often. I hope! But till they do, the throat clearing is a clever enough ruse. And I really don't think she's catching on.