Might as well get the story about crushed bollocks out of the way quickly
Eddie, for whom I would otherwise spare some sympathy, put it around school that I only had one bollock.

A scurrilous slur, for mine were – right up to the moment of vasectomy – both in perfect working order. Which is more than could be said for Eddie himself, who used this fearful untruth to cover his own sorry tale.

Poor, poor Eddie.

He had been playing on the swings with some mates, trying to out-do each other with tricks and stunts. The stunt of choice was one where they swung as high as they could, jumped off, landing on the soft grass congratulating each other on their rock-hard stuntman status.

This wasn't flash enough for Eddie. He had to take the stunt to its inevitable conclusion. Having seen it done on countless westerns and car-chase movies, he decided to swing as high as he could before jumping off and landing on his bike, riding away in triumph as his friends roared their appreciation.

What could possibly go wrong?

It was - for a whole thirty seconds - a beautifully comic moment. Then someone called an ambulance.

Now, as the late Peter Cook might have said, I had nothing against Eddie's singular bollock. The trouble is, neither did he.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 21 Jan 2010, 12:19, Reply)