The reason men end up entangled in situations they can’t get out of is because they think with their balls rather than act with some. ~ Alexander
So I’m sitting there, watching a movie called The Night Of The Iguana. It’s a 1964 production, starring Richard Burton and Ava Gardner, based on a Tennessee Williams play. It centers around the story of a shamed priest and three women, whose presence tests his constitution.
I’m watching with interest. The story is intriguing and provocative. It makes its case with gusto, addressing delicate matters other movies are afraid to touch. I am so revved up that I toss the remote control up in the air, then catch it. Don’t ask why, I just do it, it feels appropriate. I toss it up again, and again. I hear the priest offering warning to the reckless young woman chasing after him: ‘Two people in unstable conditions are like two countries facing each other in unstable conditions. The destructive potential could blow the whole world to bits!’ My attention shifts and the remote control escapes me. It lands on the edge of my palm, rotates and strikes me in the groin, right on the huevos.
Oh, agony agony! I cuss, curl, roll over and groan like an idiot.
When the pain subsides, I roll on my back, wondering. How the hell could evolution, a process allegedly geared toward granting an organism the advantage, leave the testicles, an organ so vulnerable, in the mercy of the elements? Shouldn’t they have been incorporated deep inside the body where nothing could damage them?
Yes, they should have. But they weren’t.
Yet we flaunt them around all the same, as if they were made of steel, trying to blast our way through the human wilderness with them.
The reason why men have always decided with their small head rather than the big one is because there are two little opinionated objects hanging under it
What does that have to do with The Night Of The Iguana? Everything. This is the tale of a man being guided by his passions and hunted by his conquests (and rejections). It reveals the reason why men have always decided with their small head rather than the big one: two little opinionated objects dangling next to head junior, eager to speak louder than they can afford. Always getting their way, they drag their owners around, landing them in trouble.
In other words, men with overeager balls end up in tied-up situations because they are too hazy to think their way through, too proud to rethink a flawed position, too eager to inject more semen in suitable human vessels and make more of their own kind. Even when wearing a condom, blasting their crazy sailors against a wall, or when chugging them down the drain, be it a hydraulic or a biological one, they still act as if their future depended on shooting their load.
Yes, there is a determining force behind the masculine psyche, and its name is semen. A tsunami of them, powered by a whole factory, looking to strike 24/7.
Want to blame someone for machismo? Blame testicles. Put a big scraggly scrotum on the bench and condemn it for man’s idiocies.
Of course, ovaries have their share of blame too. Yes, it takes two to tango. Ovaries mess everything up in a jiffy. They carry hormones, those nasty little substances that are as batty as bats in the attic; invisible when asleep, all over the place when awakened. I’ll pay them their dues soon. All in good time. After the ball-busting.
So there you have it. A story of self-involved nuts, fucking with the world’s well-being.
Have I gone too far? Maybe. But that’s the nature of the LocoMotive. It takes you places you never imagined.
Or, like a wise man once said: Ay Caramba!
Now for a little fun with a naturalized Scotsman, a skeleton, and more, you guessed it, balls! The smart kind, of course.
[youtube width=”600″ height=”350″]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diiFzeiqY-c[/youtube]
Tuck ’em in, gentlemen.