Hello out there in Inter-Web Land. Many moons have passed since the other boys and myself have posted anything to this wonderfully entertaining blog. Fuck you! We’ve been busy with shit! Anyways, many conversations have passed amongst the brothers of the Order and we feel it’s finally time to get back on our high horse and make a concerted effort to get this ball rolling again (pun intended – read ahead). As the youngest, best looking, and most successful brother of the Order, I thought I would lend some inspiration to the boys and be the first one to let it all hang out (again, pun intended – read ahead).

Recently, yours truly, Dr. Dave, encountered tremendous pain in his nether region. Having faced a similar situation in the past, I immediately began to suspect an old arch nemesis had crept back into my life.  That nemesis was, and is, Epididymitis. For those of you who are unaware, Epididymitis is a medical condition in which there is inflammation of the epididymis (a curved structure at the back of the testicle in which sperm matures and is stored). This condition comprises gradual onset of testicular pain that can vary from mild to severe, and the scrotum (sac containing the testicles) may become red, warm and swollen. It may be acute or rarely chronic. Epididymitis is the most frequent cause of acute onset of scrotal pain in adults.                                                                        

Even though I stole the definition from Wikipedia, what Wikipedia doesn’t tell you is that the “pain” they describe is the equivalent of your testicle  being taken gently in a woman’s soft, manicured hands as she gazes lustfully into your eyes. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for since the two of you first met. At first, she playfully dismissed your advances – teasing you with cliché rebuttals like: I never date inside the workplace; I have a boyfriend; I used to be a man. You persisted though and one day in April, she finally gave in to your charming advances. You took her (him) out to dinner, a movie. You sat in your convertible near the botanical gardens and made small talk while you counted the stars. You drove her home and she invited you in for a drink. But you knew what she meant. Dirty girl wants to get a little freaky deeky. And why shouldn’t she? She’s been naughty. You start on the couch, by yourself at first – whatever, and pretty soon, you’re both tangled up in the silk sheets on her king sized bed. A pity she has to sleep in that big bed all alone at night. Now you’re at the moment where she’s gently caressing and stroking you. She gazes lustfully into your eyes and SQUEEZES THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR BALLS with a physical suffering so tremendous it shoots a stream of fiery poison into your toes at the same time it delivers a nauseous spasm into the pit of your despondent stomach. WHAT THE FUCK you cry out. WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU BALLS – not her (him), she’s just an allusion being used to make a point.

But your balls don’t respond because they don’t have mouths.

Now this is the second time I have had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of this friendly affliction. It is most often caused by a bacterial infection or by a sexually transmitted disease like “Good Times Gonorrhea” (aka The Clap) or “Catchy Chlamydia” (aka you slept with a whore). Because my promiscuity has been limited lately, and because I am so cautious (I use a condom even when I masturbate) I figured a bacterial infection was definitely the culprit behind this shameful disease.

My research taught me that the bacterial infection could have been contributed by a myriad of intriguing situations ranging from engaging in the much maligned and often taboo “Doing ‘IT’ in the Butt” to not emptying my bladder before lifting weights. Well what the happy fuck? That’s a pretty enormous playing field there Captain.  So, essentially, anything that I did recently could possibly be responsible for the swelling taking place in Ole Lefty. When I asked the doctor who examined me whilst I was lying upon the frigid clinic table wearing a paper sheet, socks, and an undershirt – what I could do in the future to prevent such an abomination from occurring to my two oldest and dearest friends he said: “Get a vasectomy.” Well, fuck you very much too.

So as I sit now, with an ice pack on my crotch, swallowing ten days of antibiotics for the infection and popping twelve Advil a day for the pain, I am forced to temporarily withdraw from the strict health regiment I have been following for the last several weeks, as well as any other strenuous activity, until my nut is healthy and once again in tip-top shape.  I pour what’s left of my energy into this posting. I hope that the sacrifice my left testicle has made will be an inspiration to my brothers. I hope that they will find themselves in a place that will allow them the time to once again transpire their creativity into words and fill the pages of this blog with their humor and insight. They are, gentlemen, all. My testicle is their rallying cry, their battle flag, their Gettysburg. Fight on dear brothers and Remember My Testicle.