About two months or so ago I started watching with my wife something called Dancing With The Stars (B-level losers paired with professional dancers in a dancing contest) Within 24 hours of watching the first episode I was contacted by Man Club that if I was going to continue watching Dancing With The Stars I would have to have my testicles surgically removed. I knew Wifey enjoyed the show so I agreed to the operation. It's actually kinda simple and they do this new procedure where they detach them but they are easily put back on using some sort of microscopic zipper thingy.
So anyhow week after week I tune into Dancing With The Stars, unzip my testicles, put them in the freezer until the next day, and then continue watching Dancing With The Stars. And a funny thing happens. I start judging the 'Stars' on their dancing ability as if I know I Rhumba from from a Kimba from a Fox Trot to a Waltz. The dancing team will finish their routine and I'll say crap like "That was a 9.0!" or "Look at the arm movements on Joey Lawerence...fabulous!"
I find myself wanting to buy Sara Evans CDs and watcing Mario Lopez (M-Lo) in whatever it is he's in. I want silk shirts and a spray on tan! I want to dance and skip and embrace life!
But then the show is over for another week. I zip back on my testicles. I go back to watching LOST and CSI and war movies and football and westerns. I spit. Maybe swear some. Eat red meat.
And then before you can say "I'll trade you three Bicentennial Thimbles for two of your Vatican Thimbles".... Dancing With The Stars is on again and I'm all about the Sambo or Rambo or whatever they're called. I'm back to shouting "It's a 10.0" or "Look at his form and style"
All without my testicles of course.
They are in the freezer.