Heeeeey everyone. It’s me, Jesus Christ, and these are my balls.
See, the thing about balls...wait, let me rephrase. The thing about my balls is that every now and again, usually when I am at my grandma's house relaxing after a long afternoon of helping coach the local junior high school swim competition, they need to be warmed up just right to help me "prepare" for the next competition. Like I told those cops, I know I am not the one competing. But as long as I am there every day, helping motivate those strong young boys swim even one more lap, with or without their consent, I feel like I already am a winner, you know? Strict discipline and aggressive training is required if you want to be the best. And nothing says discipline and training like warming your balls on the table with your shoes off.
I can't even tell you how many Sunday dinners I've spent warming my balls near the old timey stove my grandma keeps to help pump smoke into the walls. Or more recently during the holidays, I switched it up to a basic 3 candle ball-warming routine, which let me tell you, TOTALLY gets the job done right.
My grandma often asks me, "Jesus, what would you say you are most passionate about? Swim competitions or Drag racing posters?" I take my grandma's delicate hands, similar in feel to that of a small Asian boy and I say sincerely, "Grandma, I think we both know my greatest passion in life is warming my balls". Of course that usually sends us both into a fit of giggles and I have to try desperately to keep my soft brown locks from falling into my eyes because I absolutely LOVE watching her laugh.
It's funny how a lot of people feel more comfortable shooting the shit with their grandparents than they do with they birth parents. I wouldn't feel like I was having a good time watching tube with mom and dad, but my grandma's the fuck'n cat's pajamas to hang out prime time with.
ReplyDeleteJesus Christ, this is great!
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