Don't Mind My Balls

July 5th, 2008 at 06:17am Keith Hemstreet 8

My college roommate left me a voice mail yesterday morning. His message was short, simple and to the point.

“Your balls are showing,” he whispered, and hung up.

Those who are not in the know might consider this message to be cryptic, weird, and/or seriously demented. The truth is, it's none of the above.

It would serve the reader to recount the history of this phrase. It all began with the brilliant film, “Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls.” Mr. Ventura had just arrived in an African village where he was commissioned to find the tribe’s sacred white bat, Shikaka. As he makes his way through the village, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with the people of the tribe, he notices a man’s under-carriage on full display. Assuming the man is unaware this embarrassing slip, Ace does the honorable thing and informs him. “Your balls are showing,” he whispers, and moves on.

I saw this movie in college with a group of intoxicated friends, one of which was my roommate. The scene in the village was one of many that made us laugh until we cried. We left the movie and immediately integrated several Ventura phrases into our lexicon; like a glove…five darts is too many…it’s in the bone…among others. However, none of these phrases has been used more frequently than “Your balls are showing.”

Which leads me to a disturbing incident that occurred last night. My family and I were seated on our deck, watching the fireworks, when our neighbor emerged from his apartment wearing only his underpants. He leaned against the railing, propped his ass in our face, and began to “ooh” and “awe” as the fireworks lit the sky. These were not stylish underpants he was wearing, nor were they boxers, which I could have tolerated. He wore standard issue tighty whitey’s.

I gave my wife a look that said, “Is this guy for real?” and tried to keep my daughters focused on the firework display. Needless to say, this special moment with my family was ruined. My blood began to boil. How could someone be such an ass? Show some decency and slip on a pair of goddamn shorts before you step onto our shared deck, you freakin' jagkoff.

Our housing development was designed to encourage community interaction. Each deck is shared by several homeowners, forcing us to walk past each other’s home - and all too often, each other - on the way to our own. As if we were all going to gather on our decks each evening for cookies and lemonade. Come on. Who’s the idiot that came up with this idea? Harmonious co-existence with other human beings is not possible. I despise community. Our other neighbor uses his deck to store unsightly junk. If you saw this collection, you'd assume he’s having a rummage sale outside his front door.

“Would anyone like to buy a wheel-less wheelbarrow? ‘Cus I’ve got a nice, rusty one sitting on my shared deck. For the right price, that baby’s all yours.”

Community, my ass. As soon as I am able, I'm moving to a big piece of land with high walls. The fewer human beings I see, the better. You can keep your damn community.

As the finale popped in the sky, a car drove by, it’s lights running along the deck, illuminating the Sanford & Son stockpile, and, unfortunately, our neighbor’s underpants. That’s when I noticed his tighty whitey’s weren’t so tighty after all. They hung loose around the leg, as if this newly skinny guy had worn the same underpants prior to participating in, and winning, “The Biggest Loser” competition.

“I used to weigh 427 pounds. Today, I weigh 132. Want proof? Just take a gander at my old underpants. I still wear them today as a reminder of how fat I used to be. Every time a breeze tickles my undercarriage, it brings a tear to my eye.”

If you’re wondering, the answer is “yes, indeed.” My man’s balls were showing. All I could do was laugh, thinking of the message I'd received earlier from my college roommate, the prophet.

Nice work, Jim. Nice work.

Entry Filed under: Aspen, Comedy