Stop, stop, my balls already ache from a sourdough sandwich post eariler

That’s what I wanna say, 128.

I think it’s https://lucida.to/ this

Yeah, I’ve never run across it before, and there’s too many things that use it as a name to run a regular search

Yup. It’s really shitty

Sure, that’s normal

It’s calles epididymal hypertension. Aka blue balls.

The blood flow combined with the tension of the tissues caused during the preparation for sexual activity causes the part of the testicles that stores spermatzoa to experience discomfort.

I used to date a lady that would, during foreplay, comment that I really needed to ejaculate bad. Not the exact wording used, but it was still a little weird. Not weird enough to break my stride, because it was true enough, and with her working the pieces parts that would lead up such an event, it could have been extremely weird, and I would have been okay with it.

This goes on for months before she finally said, “I don’t know how it fills up so fast, we just did it an hour ago.”, during a rather busy weekend that included a great deal of ejaculation. I asked her what was filling up so fast. She said “your balls, they just get so big when they’re full.”

This lovely, wonderful lady had made it into her early thirties under the impression that all of the semen was produced and stored in the testicles, filling them up continuously. She was also under the impression that testicles would rupture if not drained regularly.

She attributed this to something she had overhead someone say in jr high, and had apparently never figured out otherwise.

It kinda makes sense. Why would the sack be so big and stretchy if it didn’t need to hold balls that would expand. And why would guys have different sized ones if some of them weren’t draining them more often than others.

The ensuing conversation was a difficult one. Partially because it stopped the previous activity, partially because she had a lot of questions, and partially because it wasn’t clear if the frequency with which she wanted to prevent my testicles from exploding would decrease.

Luckily, the conversation went very well, and they did eventually explode in the usual way, which was much more entertaining for her than before, she said. It also led to a lot of fun as she developed an almost fetish about feeling the event happen whenever activity would make that possible.

I’m rich! I have literal piles of it!

Flip a coin between cinnamon and plasma

Removed by mod

Removed by mod

Removed by mod

Either way; face down, ass up is the goal

How can something so grossly oversimplified be so true?

Fwiw, I’ve never put drm on anything I’ve published digitally, and never will.

Not that it matters, nobody buys my shit in the first place lol. But, as a matter of principle, even my crappy stories as a form of culture aren’t only for the people with money.

Mind you, that do? I have no beef with. You make your own choices, and I ain’t mad about it. But it just isn’t something I can do.

Jesus.

Jesus is always the answer

Both at once, hard enough to shoot boogers right through the tissue with a satisfying thwack. Bonus points if the neighbors move out because of the noise

Nah, surprise everyone.

Leap into the room, exclaim “I’m here to fuck spiders”, then drop trou and hump a cobweb.

Keep the bastards guessing

Well, back in the day, a doughnut cost a lot less than a donut.

So, betting dollars against donuts would be a bad idea.

Not that it was ever a betting term, it just condone contains a reference to betting.

It’s like saying “hey, lets get dinner. You give me a twig for every dollar I put in.”

You’re either exchanging something of unequal value, or making an “investment” where you get very little return on it.

Jesus, Nothing Else Matters, Metallica.

The song is indelibly linked to one of the best friends I ever had.

Me and him, arm in arm at a concert we had to drive hours to see. My first real concert, and the biggest one he’d been to.

So that song, every time I hear it, it takes me back to those two sweaty, goofy boys singing horribly along, and him leaning into my ear and saying “this is what it’s all about, brother, friendship, and nothing else matters.” And that opens up the doors to every other memory of him. All the silliness, all the tears, all the laughter and mutual support. And definitely the memory of him dying, and the funeral and all the chaos of that.

But it’s the happiness that wins out, every time. Images, thirty years old at this point, of him telling jokes and reading poetry and just being a fucking amazing guy. His rosy cheeks when we’d be fucking around in the southern heat, or headbanging, or lifting weights. He was such a rosy cheeked guy lol.

And all it takes is hearing the intro to that song for those memories to pour out.

What’s cool is that when I run across old pictures of him, or someone brings him up, the song plays in my head.

Gods, we were so fucking young lol.