April 18, 2011 § Leave a comment
Balls are nature’s greatest mistake.
Your heart, for instance, is obviously an important organ. So what does nature do. It’s behind a wall of muscle and bone, centrally located where much of its work can be done by gravity. Similarly, your stomach is in behind your abs where it would be a real fucking chore to eviscerate you and get it out. Plus all the movement of your midsection helps with peristalsis. This is great engineering.
Notice that neither of these things is hanging off the side of your gut in a veiny membranous sac covered with long gross hairs, and so rich with nerve endings that flicking it with your pinky feels like a shotgun full of rock salt was blasted into you at close range. Neither of these things hangs in a hideous wrinkled little pouch that anyone could lightly tap and it would incapacitate you for hours. Your brain is not dangling six inches off your body on a hot day to the point where in loose pants you could snag it on the corner of the coffee table and kind of feel nothing for a few seconds until suddenly wave after wave of nauseous burning agony washed through your gut and you could literally do nothing but lie curled up groaning on the floor for the several minutes until it went away. So why the fuck does a nut sac exist?
Because, they say, your body can only produce sperm at cool temperatures. That’s why nature designed this ingenious distending-and-retracting sac, to keep the sperm producing machine at a balmy ninety two point whateverthefuck degrees. Because that’s what it is, like 92 or something. IT’S IN THE SAME FUCKING BALLPARK as your body temperature. We’re not talking about how sperm is some unique cell that can only be produced below freezing and we all have to walk around with our balls in a thermos of liquid nitrogen all day. It’s JUST BARELY DIFFERENT.
Which seems easier to you? a) slowly design a mechanism over millions of years where the reproductive apparatus hangs in a soft defenseless pouch of skin that miraculously pulls up or drops down to keep the precious sperm in its spoiled little temperature range or b) keep the most precious part of you that encapsulates the whole purpose of your life on Earth and protect it INSIDE the fucking body. MAKE THE FUCKING SPERM SO THEY CAN LIVE AT 98.6 FUCKING DEGREES like EVERY OTHER CELL. Like trillions of microorganisms that live symbiotically within our intestines, etc.
Are you telling me this couldn’t be done? Nature made whole ecosystems that live like 300 atmospheric pressures deep in undersea cracks in the Earth, where literally the sun could not exist and they would be fine. They feed off caustic magma and like ammonia or something; there are worms that thrive in 400 degree geothermally-superheated water; clams that feed off the worms, etc. etc. There are bacteria in Mono Lake that make their DNA out of arsenic. Little lichen bugs that they launched into space with NO protection, just exposed them to the vacuum and radiation of space, and when they got them back to earth they PRODUCED VIABLE OFFSPRING. You’re telling me you can’t make a sperm cell without this fucking veiny, musty lawn and leaf bag hanging 8 inches under my dick in the summer? Or you couldn’t at least give it like an armadillo carapace so that I don’t live in terror of a fucking wayward Frisbee making my future kids retarded?
I mean, look, whatever. I’m sure nature had her reasons. My real beef is that when you have a standard-issue white person’s dick and larger than average nuts, which I do– you end up having a package in your pants that looks like when they show you the size of Jupiter next to Earth at the planetarium. Unless I’ve literally been fucking a snow bank my nut sac is never smaller than a Hefty® Tall Kitchen Bag, but my dick goes all clinical micropenis at the first sign of a stiff breeze. The colossal nut sac becomes the dominant visual in the frame and the poor girl who is already making the mistake of sleeping with me is confronted with this giant varicose brain coral with long reddish, and occasionally white, corkscrew hairs coming out of it. A thing that pulsates on its own, seems to sigh as it bloatedly expands right in front of her— a grossly infantile pink membrane-flap filled with H.R. Giger tubing and weird impossibly delicate alien-looking mechanisms, teeming with little microscopic snakes, swarming, swimming…
Just think about it. The word sac. Ugh.