The Rains Down in Africa

         I don’t think I should worry about it.  I’m sure it’s normal.  Ignore it and it will go away, right?  Ah, but Jesus, it is orange.  And unless I’m mistaken, which I’m not, there is a slimy sheen of moisture across the top which smells like bitter applesauce.  I should probably have a doctor look at it, because WebMD wasn’t much help.  Yeah, that will be awesome.  Just whip out my dong and let a perfect stranger have a real good look with some kind of scope, and then take a sample of it somehow.  Perfect!  And of course, with my luck, I would get one of those nonsense boners that occur for no reason other than to say ‘how-do-ya-do, Charlie!!  I’m still here and check out my balls!’

         The pain!  I can hardly walk.  The friction is far too much to bear.  My boxer shorts are like a flame thrower spewing fiery hot death on to the delicate flesh of my junk.  Shit, it’s my turn.  Better hop to it, Charles, or Susie’s going to think you suck, and she looks fucking hot and I want to… what?  Bang her?  Out of the question.  If she saw what was happening to my shaft (and starting on my sack), there would be no sexual activity of any kind.  She would be more likely to call the police or Ripley’s or Comedy Central or fucking Oprah or oh God, what am I going to do?  Stand up.  Walk.  She is looking at me.  My dick is going to fall off right now and roll down my leg and fall out of the bottom of my jeans and it’s just going to lay there like some kind of morbid Thanksgiving centerpiece and then what will I say?  Hey, anybody want some nachos?

         Okay, I’ve made it to the line.  The pain is making me hallucinate a little and the pins all look like erect cocks with little orange wet continents on them and fuck Susie is laughing about something.  She knows.  She can probably smell the bitter applesauce emanating from my pants and now I’m just going to bowl and after this frame I am going to go home and place a bag of frozen peas on my unit for the rest of the night, maybe forever.  Here goes, just release the ball and… SHIT!!  What the hell was that?  It feels like my crotch was just mauled by a bearcat and now, did someone warm up a gallon of maple syrup in the microwave and pour it in my lap?  No, definitely not, but that’s what it feels like.  Okay, Charlie, just look down.  Oh, God.  Oh, God, no.

         There is a stain on the front of my jeans that looks like Africa.  It is a very dark red.  Susie looks like she’s just seen her parents beheaded or a kitten pureed in a blender.  I am going to go to the hospital.  Then I am going to move.  To Africa.





Word Count: 500