After one month of endless toll, i finally made my mark by posting articles on NEUTICLES. Seems like people enjoy erotic stuff and therefore, all my posts should contain a hint of erotica. We shall see. The exams are finally over and i was catching up with my hardcore gaming, which means i haven't had time to update this blog for quite a few days. Chemistry is pretty much well in the bin. Mainly because i could do one question in the whole paper. One question! Thats 2 marks ! Okay im not gonna talk about exams anymore since i pretty much well flunked everything worth living for.
Back to my neuticles post!
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But how to sell them? My first thoughts went to eBay or craigslist. Definitely the easiest, but online sales were at least somewhat traceable by authorities. Surely someone would notice that $150,000 worth of balls was missing, and would check the Internet to see of anyone was trying to move the stolen goods there. I’d be setting a trap for myself if I went that route. Going to jail for selling dog nuts wasn’t a future I relished. What do cops do to guys who get caught selling fake dog balls? I kinda missed that episode of Oz. Castration I guess - that seems to be how they settle most things.
Selling them in person could be safer, but who would buy fake dog testicles? Fetishists obviously, but did I want to meet these sick people? Or handle cash that they had handled with their grimy hands? The only other option I could think of were crooked veterinarians, but where to find those?
As I was standing there, mulling my options, I spotted fellow classmate Ken. I approached him, and asked, “Hey Ken, you know any shady veterinarians?”
“Yes, two.” He flicked his eyes down at the box I was holding. “You trying to sell those Neuticles?”
I tilted my head slightly in a casual gesture. “Maybe.”
He leaned in and peered at my dog ball collection. Reaching in he plucked one out of the box and examined it closely. Suddenly, he popped it in his mouth and began working it around with his jaw, while I stood, gaping. Munching on it with a thoughtful look in his eye, he finally said “These are good.” He looked me in the eye. “Real good.” He swallowed. “Yeah, I’ll make some calls. You sit tight.” He turned around and wandered off.
I stood there, frozen in place. Something about the way Ken ate that dog testicle made me realize I was about to walk down a path of no return. There was no way I could do this: I had to dump my ball-box and get out of here.
I definitely couldn’t just drop it anywhere now. Nightmarish visions danced through my head of people reporting it as a suspicious package. Firemen showing up and roping off the area. The bomb squad detonating it. Testicles raining down on the city streets below in a one mile radius. Old ladies fainting. Someone would mention that they saw me holding the package. SWAT teams kicking in my door, finding me rocking back and forth in the bathtub, yelling at my genitals.
Petrified, my hands shivered uncontrollably as I tried to shake away these visions. Somehow the box slipped out of my hands. I reached for it, fumbling at it. I grasped it, but the lid popped open. “Oh balls, My balls!” I shrieked ,clutching at the lid. The whole box flew out of my hands, spilling its contents out, bouncing down the stairs in front of me.
A thousand fake dog testicles cascading down a public staircase is basically the most noticeable thing ever. Every person within a half mile turned to watch as my balls bounced down, into, over and around the people gathered below. People yelled out in shock and horror as the balls struck them. Others stepped on them, sliding around and crashing to the ground violently. At the bottom of the stairs, a group of children on a field trip stood, screaming at the wave of counterfeit genitals descending upon them. Fwap fwap fwap fwap fwap fwap fwap fwap fwap. I closed my eyes and cringed.
An eerie silence descended over the scene. I cautiously opened my eyes. Miraculously, no one appeared to be hurt. As the nuts came to rest, scattered everywhere the eye could see, cries of recognition rose up from the victims of my onslaught, as they realized what had struck them. I’d never seen “balls” on so many people’s lips. The word I mean. Not the object.
Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around to see a police officer, looking at me sternly. “That was an accident,” I tried to say, although I think all that came out was “hamma mammmma mammmmma.” His gaze narrowed as he observed me and my many apparent faults. After a few seconds his face softened just a fraction as a decision was made somewhere in his powerful cop brain. “OK,” he began. “Then maybe you should clean those up?”
I nodded meekly and began scooping up mock balls one at a time, frantically moving around on my hands and knees. Curses and rude hand gestures were directed at me by everyone unfortunate enough to be downstream of my onslaught, although one group of German tourists seemed really excited, and tried to take several pictures of me.
Two hours of back breaking work later, I had finally rounded up all the loose nuts. Many were missing, having rolled down storm drains or been scooped up as tasteful souvenirs. The cop had long since wandered off, as had most of the crowd. At the top of the steps I saw Ken arguing with a guy wearing a white vest and an eyepatch. The guy with the eyepatch threw up his hands and stormed away. Ken remained, glaring and shaking his head at me. Eventually he too left.
I was exhausted, yet left with my original problem: what to do with a case of fake dog balls? Suddenly an enormous shadow reared up from behind me. I turned and looked just in time to duck, as a hot air balloon came crashing to the ground, the basket tumbling over, spilling its contents to the ground. A dazed Damien stood up and looked around. Spotting me, he jogged over.
“Nicholas! Awesome! Thanks so much for holding these for me dude.” He grabbed the box from my hands, grinning happily.
“Uh, no problem,” I said, happily relinquishing my balls. “Looks like you stole a hot air balloon there, yeah?”
Damien turned around to look at the balloon, now tangled in a telephone pole. He turned back. “I guess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Crazy Mondays, right?”
“It’s Thursday. You deviant moron”
“That’s the craziest day of all,” he said, squinting. He looked at the now-tattered box, and peeled open the lid, examining its contents. “Fake dog balls! Awesome! These all still here?”
I looked around, an exasperated look on my face. “Uhm, no. Ken ate one,” I proffered.
“Awesome!” he said, genuinely happy. “Good work, Nick! Next payday, don’t be surprised if you see a little something extra in your pay.”
I understood immediately that this meant he was going to put fake dog balls in an envelope and jam it under my door, but didn’t say anything, lest I give the impression I wanted to continue having a conversation with him. We stared at each other for eight seconds.
“I’m going to put fake dog balls in an envelope and stuff it under your door,” he said finally, smiling expectantly.
I nodded my head wearily. “I look forward to it.”
=================The End====================
(Can someone suggest a new article to me? since i kinda ran out of ideas)
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