Juggling: it gives me the excuse to play w/them in public without the court appearances.

There just isn’t a nice and polite way to say this but I have an affliction / addiction which causes me to play with my balls. A lot. Often in public places much to the chagrin (and often times fascination) of passers-by. Little kids stare and tell their mom to look at what the strange man is doing.

I’m sick. I need help. I just can’t help grabbing my balls and tossing them over my head. Sometimes I grab them both, other times I toss all three. One day I hope to get all four of the suckers in both of my hands and who knows maybe bite them in mid-air…

(pause)

WHAT? Why the hello are you looking at me like that for? Do you mind?

… I wonder what they taste like. Anyways, there just isn’t any nice way to say it but my name is Vincent and I love playing with my balls. Although they’re kind of heavy, hard and quite difficult to handle I persevere through the fumbles, the stumbles and the clapping, staring children and their open-mouthed parents. They say confession is good for the soul but I have to say nothing is more joyous than showing people that new trick you just learned with your balls.

My name is Vincent and I am happy to say that I am a juggler. I juggle baseballs and…

WHAT? Why the kelp are you all looking so freaking relieved?

…as I was saying I can’t stop touching my balls. Juggling them 2 in 1 hand, 3 ball cascades, over and unders, juggler’s tennis and a few other little tricks I’ve learned over time. Playing. With my balls. A lot. In public.

(pause)

I love playing with my balls… uh… because I’m a…

(pause)

Oh! Now I get what you all were… uhm… you were thinking… that I was… talking about… playing with my balls… in public and… yeah, now I get the staring… my balls… ah, yeah.

Geez you people are sick. Freaks! Sick freaks. Sick, sick freaks! You’re all freaking disgusting you know that? Perverts! Shame on you all. Pervs!

So… anyone wanna juggle my balls? *grin* They’re heavy…

Today I am deeply saddened despite knowing that there is plenty of good in the world and that everywhere I turn Cavorting Squirrels of Rapturous Joy can be spotted, usually dancing somewhere in the corner of my eye. Many times people have told me that there is something wrong with my unique perspective of life; the easy way in which I can see joy and embrace my ease in finding something to smile about despite what happens in the world around me.

Not today.

Today sucks. Plain and simple. I am sad. I can find no reason to say to myself “Hey, smile man, things are cool and life is good.” In fact, if I said something like that to myself out loud, I’d probably wind up cursing and punching me in the face.

Seriously. Life sucks today. Want to know why? Guess what… I don’t freaking care what you want, here’s my story:

Yesterday I had to work on my car. Everyone knows that I love my car. My car is special and beyond important to me. It means much more to me than a car possibly can to a human being for tons of reasons. Reasons which you’d know if you knew me but you can find clues all over my blog here. Well, long story short there was lots of hot metal. Hot metal burns. Things like skin. My car, who I love and have caressed way more than various sexual partners, has a love that burns. My car is HOT. H-O-T hot. Not only has it the finest rear end I have ever seen but it’s also temperature hot. My car burns. And she done burned me. Burned me good. Not bad just right where it sucks to be burned. My baby, she done burned me.

Right now as I type this entry to tell you of the day there was no light in the world for me, an epic event in my life, I am in pain. Pain because my hot baby done burned me. Burned me good. Where it really hurts.

The bitch burned two fingers on my left hand. The top pads of my fingers. You know the parts you type with? Sucks being a computer professional right now. Ow. %^$#@!ing ow. Ow! Ow! Not to mention the pain has ruined the experience of typing on my new UUK (Ultimate Ultimate Keyboard) that just arrived (blog entry to come later). Ow! Dammit…

But see that’s not why there is no joy today and only sadness. Even though my sweet, hotty car done burned me good I have failed her. Though the car she is a’fixed and a’workin good I have come to realize through a friend that I have failed my baby that done burned me. Burned me good.

My friend has a car called Squishy the Wonder Saturn (she also has a bulldog named The Stealth Bulldog) and it was just today that I realized that I have ignored me baby. My hot, hot babe. That done burned me. Burned me good.

She has no name.

I haven’t ever named her. I’ve never even thought about naming her. A car that means so much more to me than people. A car who has not only carried me when I was weak but has driven me to heights of passion I can only explain as “ice cream shop","computer store", and “restaurant.” And yet I have so taken her for granted that I never thought about her needs. Her need for a name.

How the hello-kitty could I have been such an uncaring bastard? Besides the fact that I have testicals, I mean. How could I treat such a wonderful car (a car whose love for me burns, burns me good) so bad? Without even thinking about it (yeah I know ladies, it’s the testicals)? For so long (testicles)?

There is no joy in the world, today. My car has no name. There is only sadness…

(cricket chirp)
(sagebrush rolls across the screen)
(mime performs an out-of-the-box experience)

…until I realized that my car that burns that done burned me good so does have a name. Sure, not Squishy the Wonder Saturn cool but more than cool for me. Ultimately cool.

What’s her name? What name could sound even cooler to me than Squishy the Wonder Saturn? What’s my hot babe’s name? It’s: My car.

The joy is back!
Ow! Fuckers.