*wednesday's Nuts **       *            *
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Get hit? Got hit? Did hit? Seen hit? Hit self?! All in the nuts.  Send it in.

Ok, I got one. This was the second most painful experience of my young life, and I remember it vividly to this day. I was probably 12 or 13, and the family and I lived on a little bit of a farm. My dad was and still is a horse nut, and trains horses for fun, so we had and still have a couple of corral like structures around the proprety. At the time, the corral in question was brand new, my father had just constructed it from peeled logs, about 4 inches or so around, and it was very nice looking, all fresh wood andf natural looking. The bonus for me was that it was ideally spaced for climbing over, you (if you were of comparable height to my 12 or 13 year old self) could put one foot on the bottom rail, climb the second rail and third rail and either stand on the second rail and jump ove r the top, hoping to land your other foot neatly on the second rail on the other side (risky, so I almos tnever did it), or you could place your foot on the third rail and swing your leg over to put your other foot on the third rail, with plenty of clearance and little risk of missing the rail on the come down step. So I'd climbed over this fence like a million times, sometimes at furiously quick speeds with pursuing siblings behind me, and was pretty sure that I'd be able to tackle the fence under most conditions. Ironically, on the day of the incident, there was no rain, no dew, no dampness of any kind, it was a sunny, dry, very warm summer's day. I was out and about enjoying my life to the fullest, and decided for some reason that i needed to be on the other side of the fence. I was in no hurry and decided to take the conservative route of climbing all the way to the third rail.

Unfortunately for my young self, the fence was still fresh enough to have woody tree fluids coating certian parts of it, and on the down step, I put my foot squarely in a patch of sticky but slippery tree sap. This is especially important, as my foot stuck a little bit, and slowly slid, so I had time to fully realize how my world was about to change from casual good cheer to something unpleasant. Because of the height of the rails, I completed my foot slip with my junk about a foot and a half above the top rail, and fell straight down, onto the top rail. The pain was excruciating enough to give me that "deer in the headlights" freeze and I fell off the fence sideways, conscious but not able to move all that well. No one was around and I lay in agaony and self pity on the ground for about twenty minutes before I mustered up the intestinal fortitude to cripple my way down to the house, where I nursed my young, bruised testes back to health over the course of about a week. The height involved was not impressive, but all I have to say about that is that it might as well have been for all I cared, the angle worked out perfectly or horrifically, depending on how you look at it. this whole thing happened 8-9 years ago, but I still remember it and wince like it happened last week. 


Mike O    


I’ve got a few of them – one celebrity:

1. When I was running track in high school, I had several friends that did the pole vault.  My buddy took one to the hoo-hoos that would make anyone shudder – as he was running toward the pole, he planted firmly and launched about eight (he was trying for 12 or so, but didn’t make it) feet into the air.  On a normal vault, the pole obviously bends AWAY from your body to give you the leverage to fly over the pole.  Unfortunately, said friend did not gain enough leverage.  The pole snapped backwards INTO his body during mid-flight, knocking him square!  It was basically like watching someone take a ten foot plastic slingshot, pulling it alllllll the way back and then letting it go into the jewels.  I’ve never seen anyone cry that much during a sporting event.  I tried to find a video of the “snapback” as we called it, but only found this:


2. I went to see the Barenaked Ladies at Smith College around ’95 or so.  At this time, they weren’t ‘big-time’ popular, so it was a very small venue and the rules were lax.  There were signs outside written on chalkboards that said “NO THROWING MACARONI – MACARONI PROHIBITED!” as it was tradition to throw the little, uncooked suckers at the band during “If I Had a Million Dollars”… you know that Kraft Macaroni & Cheese reference.  Nobody bothered to frisk us down for pasta at the door, though (it would’ve been a little too weird, I guess).

Well, the band was ending with “If I Had a Million” and, sure enough, the Kraft Mac & Cheese line came up.  Everyone giddily reached into their pockets for loose pasta and <phoosh!> we rained pasta upon the band.  One ASS, though, had smuggled a full, solid box into the show and hurled it directly at Steven Page’s nutsack!!  Couldn’t believe it (and neither could HE!)!!  It was on the mark and he went down in a heap!  Over the mic, Steven screams, “OOOooooooooh!!!  My f’n baaaaaallllllllllllssssssss!!!”  A huge kudos to the band – not only did they continue playing the song without missing a beat, Steve only took a minute on the ground and eventually got up to finish singing.  I’m pretty sure they kicked the “ASS” out, but why bother… it was the end of the show.  He got his fun.  =P

3. Finally, a girlfriend in college walked straight toward me in our dorm hallway and, without a word, threw her knee into MY hoo-hoos because she thought it’d be funny.  Her friends laughed as I went fetal and nearly vomited.  When asked why the hell she did it, she said something like, “I was bored” and “It couldn’t hurt THAT much.” I later married her.  Three years later divorced her.  All true.  (That one still baffles my friends, especially the ones who saw it.)

- J


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