Brophy's Balls
by Lobelia
I am the left ball of Jed Brophy. It is a good position to hang in. One does rub up against the right ball of Jed Brophy rather but such are the vagaries of life. The pay is not so phenomenal but then the perquisites are outstanding. Brophy is an inordinately active man, as far as his testicular region is concerned, and both my right-hand buddy and I enjoy regular work-outs. Indeed, last week we had to confer as to a possible petition for days off as we were both getting quite exhausted! The Brophy is especially frisky during dance numbers. And he will veer into impromptu dancing at the proverbial drop of a hat. Shimmying, boogying, rock'n'rolling -- all topped by the inevitable hugging of the balls. Of us, that is. Us, the balls.
When we get hugged, we know it's time for action. We gird our loins (so to speak) and pump up the production (of sperm, obviously). As our man works up a sweat, we wake up our friend, the long-nosed chap. Up, up he rises, keen as a hose pipe, and we're there, down below, manufacturing away.
Mind, it would be nice to know that one's efforts were paying off in some small way. It is a great pity to see them all wasted so shamefully. We work but what do we work for? The fruit of our labours is invariably delivered into some cotton towelling or paper tissue or, lo, the dark recesses of an anal cavity. But, and I think I am speaking for the both of us here, it would be good to see at least some of it doing what it was made to do. Right ball and I often confer about this. We want the swimming of the little tadpoles and the piercing of the ovarian membrane, the ecstatic merging of genetic material, meiosis, mitosis, crossing-over, the lot.
Not this shooting off into unaccommodating cloth or sundry non-wombs.
Still, ultimately one must be philosophical about it. One does one's work, one does it as best one can, and the rest is up to The Man. Judging from all the other balls one meets in one's line of work (and we meet a goodly lot!), life is not necessarily rosier in the other sacs. Our colleagues on other bodies recount fairly much the same tale. You'd think there were no fallopian tubes left in the world, judging from the number of aggrieved testes I've met in my time.
But hark, duty calls. Mustn't tarry. I hear the strains of a disco tune and we both know where that will lead, don't we, ballsie?
----
A/N: The Balls are illustrated here.
Lobelia; 14 November 2006
(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-14 11:38 pm (UTC)How do you come of things like that? *hugles you for the crazyness*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 05:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 11:10 pm (UTC)Also - Portugal won! And Cristiano scored! And looked completly edible. As did Nuno G.'s lips! YAY!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 12:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 05:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 12:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 05:56 pm (UTC)Thank you, hon! *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 09:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 04:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 05:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 04:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 05:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 06:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-11-15 09:09 pm (UTC)